Quote Unquote
by Space-Weazel
Summary: Gohan's family life is crumbling, Piccolo's sanity is slipping through his fingers, and the cause of this strife is most unexpected and peculiar. What will Gohan and Piccolo have to do to reclaim what's left of their tattered lives? Is it even possible...
1. Chapter 1

In Which

* * *

_Quote. We never talk. Unquote. And that's when I don't answer. Don't you dare ask why, because you don't want to know._

"Quote" – Evans Blue

* * *

He looks like his grandfather, my father; I suppose one could call Him that. It's his smirk. The tiny little distortions his face makes as he dreams. Sometimes I could kill him for it. Other times I think I should.

Yet he's still here. His breathing, tranquil. He is as still as the now stagnant air in this once fertile valley. Many things changed upon his advent. It is only with lament that I can say that they have not been for the better. He's like most things upon this planet . . .You know what they say about good intentions and such. He was one of those good intentions, one of the worst.

I know they look upon me with question. Let them. They ask how I can pass such swift judgment on a being that has done no foul to anyone. If only they knew—knew how much I covered these mistakes—then they would see why. It is not a question of love. I have never loved him. At this point it is unlikely that I ever will. He resents me for it, yet remains silent. Those eyes, those cold blue eyes stare at me, willing me to die with an apathetic gaze. Perhaps I'm paranoid, but I prefer to think I'm cautious. Even the harpy has grown to accept him. That's what bothers me the worst. If they could only see.

He stirs.

I feel my breath hitch slightly.

He shifts to the side before settling again in his slumber.

My shoulders relax.

I shouldn't be this way. No, I am not afraid. Such a foolish notion. I could extinguish his life in a moment if I so wished.

I will some day have to. But not tonight. Tonight he will sleep, tremor slightly and awake to peer around and see if I am by his side, then he will drift into his abyss once more before daybreak.

His influence bothers me.

It'll be light soon. The faint scuff of sparrows' wings does not escape me in these early hours. I make no plans to be here when he arises. I never do. _Don't you dare ask why. No one really cares._

_He is the saddest sight I know._

Gohan should know . . .

He felt the rough, unshaved surface of his chin against the callous surface of his thumb and forefinger. Normally he'd be clean cut and ready for a long day teaching, but not today. His ever-observant students would simply have to tolerate the scrubble and greasy, disheveled hair this morning. Whoever convinced him to teach a 7am class two hours away from his home deserved to issue him a Darwin Award. He groaned slightly as he raised himself off of the corner of the bed where his once-young wife was serenely sleeping, just as he would be if he had any say in the matter.

His feet suck slightly to the hardwood floors as he plodded his way towards laundry room to pull a suitable outfit out of the drier. Normally he'd be starched and pressed, but it had been an especially long week, as finals were soon approaching. Sometimes he swore that he was more haggard that his students over the testing. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he pulled off the shirt he had slept in to replace it with a standard black dress shirt that buttoned up the front and beige khaki pants that had seen better days.

Today, he left his shirt untucked.

His briefcase was crammed with all manner of paper that he had spent countless hours soaking in a sea of red marks and sarcastic comments that denoted the intelligence of certain answers. It seemed as though students hardly tried anymore. What a pity.

For a brief moment, his eyes turned toward the windows. There was something oddly monotonous about this morning. The blue-gray skies did little to lighten his mood. It was suppose to rain later in the morning and probably would start before he made it to the university.

Several things became overwhelmingly apparent to him as he stepped outside that morning. The first of which was that the paperboy had not only missed his front lawn, but had thrown the paper into the fence around the side yard in which Lucifer, Videl's horrible ugly hell dog with an oral fixation lived. It's not like he paid for the paper to read it or anything The second, which in all honesty should have been the first thing he noticed, was the presence of a rather disgruntled namek. Normally he would have jumped in surprise to see him at such an early hour, for it was unusual to see Piccolo postpone his morning meditations for any natural reason. This of course meant that something quite _unnatural_ was going on. Consequently this was making for a rather long, long day.

"Piccolo, what brings you out here so early?" Silently he added 'at all' to the end but thought it best to not address the current lack of communication between him and, well, everyone.

He received a short grunt in response, the kind of grunt that indicated that something was indeed disturbing the natural order of all things in the universe. There must be a teenager behind all this.

"Ah, I see . . .He's been giving you troubles again, I presume?" Gohan shoved his hands in his pocket; a small smile crept upon his features as he discovered some loose change. Ohohoho, the vending machine in the teacher's lounge was going to get a visit tonight.

Piccolo lidded his eyes for what seemed like an eternity before he opened them again and gave the most vestigial nod that Gohan had ever seen. He knew about their problems, Piccolo and The Boy, as he was affectionately called. From what little he had actually seen of their interactions, The Boy was fairly well mannered and docile—at least he was around Videl and he. But the way Piccolo acted, it just seemed suspect. Sure, the issue had come up several times before but it was just recently that things had become, oh, how should one say it, more urgent? Piccolo seemed on edge all the time. He was always the type to be constantly aware of any fluctuation in his surroundings, but this was different. He seemed almost . . .

. . .Scared?

The lines at the corners of Gohan's mouth pulled downward faintly.

"What's he done now?" He set his briefcase down and flexed his hand. Too far removed he was from the throes of troubling children, as Pan had fled the nest many years ago.

The breeze caught the tail of Piccolo's cape and played with it in the chilled morning air. It was far too cold to be April.

"Nothing"

Gohan quirked his brow. So tense over nothing? Surely Piccolo did not think him so gullible to believe that petty excuse.

"I've never known nothing to coax such a reaction out of you."

A snort.

With a half-hearted sigh, Gohan picked up his briefcase again and advanced toward Piccolo, eyeing him steadily as he did. If Piccolo was not ready to tell him, then there would be no hearing it, at least for the time being. A visit to his grotto was called for later, but as for now; he needed to start another marvelous day teaching the grateful freshman how to write a sentence.

"He's not like me."

Gohan stopped a few steps past Piccolo and half turned to face his back. "You can't expect him to be."

Piccolo merely shook his head at that, not bothering to face his former pupil. The powerful muscles of his back tensed then relaxed hesitantly and the furrow where his eyebrow ridges met deepened. These past few years had aged him; not greatly by Namekian standards, but enough for anyone who knew him to be able to tell that the years were catching up.

"He reminds me of my sire."

Quixotically Gohan cocked his head to the side.

"That look he gives me. The grin."

"Piccolo."

The air stilled.

"He looks like you."

In the moment of silence, Gohan could have sworn he heard the tendons in Piccolo's now clench fist on the verge of snapping.

The loon cried about his lake on the edge of the Son property and with silent grace Gohan blessed the creature for all its worth. The air remained in its deadened state and the color returned to his once boyish cheeks. An awkward period had not quite passed, but seemed to reside languidly above the two.

A raindrop found its mark squarely on Gohan's nose. Shortly after another one found its way into the tiny gap between his collar and neck and slid quickly down his spine. With a shiver, Gohan looked towards his capsule car and then back to Piccolo, who was as motionless and resolute in his self-imposed misery as the already weeded patch of semi-dead grass they were standing on.

"I better get going" Gohan uttered somewhat too hastily for his own nature.

No response met him as he walked to the driver's side door and with a little more trouble than ought to be exerted, opened the aging door and got in. The engine sputtered then groaned into life, kicking up a small cloud of dust as it did. For one last time, Gohan looked to his former mentor whose heart had hardened with age. Silence. Silence as he slowly rolled off of the driveway onto the old, weathered road. Silence as he lost sight of his house. Silence has his friend was soon lost from his mind.

"The kid will never be like me."

* * *

Notations: I stated awhile ago that I was not going to resurrect any of my fanfiction. Obviously that statement is all but nullified. This story (which I pray will not be a one-shot) is set approximately twenty years after the climax of Dragonball Z in what can be considered a alternate universe. For all of those who are not familiar with my crack fics, this story will center on Piccolo's relationship with his illegitimate son, who is my original character, and Gohan. This will be a slowly building story and will be handled with care.


	2. Awry

Awry

* * *

There are just so many things that you never needed to say.

The sun has fully risen now, not that it provided him with any grimace of solace in the bitter spring weather. A slight chill hung over the valley; not even the chipmunks cared to frolic through the frozen grasses near his pond today. Despite the grasping winter claws that hung over this place, he was bathed in a cold sweat that plastered his dusky black hair to his neck and face. The flimsy cotton fabric of his shirt clung to his back—irritating. It was too early for it to be this cold; at least that was his perspective.

_When you hide, I hide inside my body_

_When I touch you, the more you shake . . .The more you give away._

He had awoken like he had for so many days with a faint sense of longing. Not the longing that one would typically feel; the longing for emotional security or physical comfort. No, he had long since banished those notions from his head. Forever asking for something that will never happened seemed like the road to monumental and devastating failure. In this life, failure was one thing he was well versed in. He groaned as he sat up, the muscles of his abdomen cursing him for breathing, much less moving. He really shouldn't try to fight. Brushing a viciously taloned hand over the dull ache that resided in his stomach, he absently surveyed the landscape. His landscape.

The pond by which he made his camp was oddly still, like black ink languidly lapping against the moss-covered rocks. Not even the trees seemed to sway in the gentle breeze today. Aside from the loon's flute accompanied by a band of larks several miles off, his world was engulfed in silence. He preferred it silent, yet the solitude was maddening. Watching the affairs of the does and their fawns grew old day in and day out. Unlike some he could never reside continually in his meditations.

The flowers that would normally be in bloom in this sanctuary were nowhere to be found. He could almost frown at that but instead decided to drag himself to the water's edge.

He never looked at his reflection. It was not for a particular dislike of his features. In all honesty, he rather enjoyed looking upon his own visage. It wasn't like he had many other people to gaze upon, anyway. The water was freezing, yet that did not detour him from letting it glide through his fingers as he stared to the side, past his shoulders. His thin lips were chapped and pulled in a rigid line across his face. His normally pallid tea green had a faint red blush across oddly prominent cheekbones. It was far too cold.

The day had started without plan or premise. From the looks of it, that was the way it was going to end. He had been looking forward to talking to someone today, the same someone who would never admit to gazing upon him. Stifling a shiver, he removed his hand from the water and shook the excess droplets from his fingers before drawing his wiry legs into his chest and crossing his arms over his knees to make a cozy place to rest his pointed chin.

The faint padding of footprints was behind him. He saw no reason to move or even shift his gaze. There was only one person who would bother coming this far into nowhere.

As expected, Piccolo's steps soon past The Boy. He was heading toward the waterfall that was . . .actually quite far from here. Why he was walking was one of the many unsolved mysteries of this man. Perhaps he actually wanted him to follow today? Rising to his feet, The Boy, who was getting a little too big to go by the title of 'Boy', took several steps towards his company. Piccolo halted when he heard the crackling of wigs behind him and cast a contemptuous look at the ground not quite where the offender was at before resuming his pace.

The Boy knew exactly where Piccolo was heading. In fact, he could accurately detail the next three to five hours of the man's life. He was going to meditate either underneath or behind the waterfall in the grotto. Occasionally he would peek open an eye to spy upon him, and then quickly snap it shut. The skin around his nose would wrinkle in minute disgust, and then he would continue to battle whatever demons plagued his mind. Now he may—may mutter something under his breath that carried the suggestion that the unwanted company should leave, but he would never utter it.

There was something to say about predictability.

However, that is not what happened. Piccolo turned just as the waterfall came into sight and directed himself toward the lower grasslands that lay ahead. The Boy faltered for a moment, thrown off guard by the sudden change in schedule. Around anyone else, he would have smirked at the sudden change, but not around this being; never around him, at least not for years. With several nearly careless steps he caught up with his wayward mentor and for once did not follow, but walked aside him.

He was several inches short of being able to look the man square in the eyes, but there was time for all of that later. The first step was to meet those jellied orbs.

A grunt came in reply to his action . . .

. . .Which was rebutted by another grunt of a different timbre.

For the briefest of moments one could have sworn that the frigid line of Piccolo's mouth twitched upward, but it must have been imagination playing tricks again.

They came to a staggering stop midway through the field. The crackle of thunder was heard in the distance. The rain was about to reach this place. The Boy stiffened his shoulders, eyes watching the skies. Piccolo merely stood there, statuesque, cape wavering slightly in the newfound breeze, and the fabric of his gi latching onto his skin where damp spots were present.

So he has seen the rain.

The few droplets of rain that precede all storms chose to fall between them, as did many things. Without further adieu, Piccolo began his meditations, levitating about a half meter off the ground with his head intently bowed and face strained in concentration. The Boy stared at him, then down at himself. His shoulders drooped.

He would never be an emerald Adonis, and for that matter he would never be emerald. He could clearly see the veins beneath his nearly translucent skin. What musculature he did have was compact and stretched across his form like a latex glove near its breaking point. Never would he see the impressive build before him on his very figure. Piccolo would never train him, not as he had trained—

Never the mind . . .

He need not concern himself with that which he cannot change.

There was something strangely emasculating about standing in Piccolo's presence.

We're far from comfortable this time

"Ah . . ." The Boy cut himself off before managing to even successfully make a word. His lips were slightly parted, teeth not quite clenched.

Piccolo's eyes opened almost agitatedly, but did not seem to look at anything other than the space in front of him.

"I exist." The words were quiet yet firmly spoken with a tenor voice.

Silence. Silence. Relentless silence.

"Something I'm painfully aware of." An answer, finally.

The Boy brushed the comment from his mind and half fell, half collapsed to his knees before relaxing into a sit. He kept his eyes trained on Piccolo, observing his every movement like a bird, a particularly large and graceless bird. He wet his lips lightly and looked away to the sky again. The dark clouds were creeping towards them from the west.

"You went to see him again." The dull monotone voice was reminiscent of one Piccolo had only heard in memory.

Not even the birds were singing anymore.

The faint scraping sound of Piccolo's cape against the deadened grass was a welcome chorus.

"What did I—"

"Leave."

A hard swallow caught in The Boy's throat. He couldn't pry his eyes away from the Namek's closed lids. No. He would not leave. He would not _move. _His face was stern but not angry.

There had been far too much of this for him to be angry about it anymore.

* * *

I can feel him gaze upon me even with my eyes and senses closed. That blank, thousand-meter stare that can find me even at night is burrowing into my skull even as I remain a grave man. It's those eyes. Those damn blue eyes that are outlined by a black fringe that has permeated the white. I don't know where he gets them, but I would as soon dispatch of power that saw it fit to mock me with them

And he will not leave.

This is a game.

I can hear him shift slightly, the feathery material of his shirt scratching against his skin. His breathing has slowed and become deeper just as mine does when I mediate—except now. My heartbeats erratically, my breaths come in short, quiet bursts.

This distraction I cannot bear.

His scent is even unlike mine . . .like rain.

Maybe it's just the weather.

Even now he tries to speak to me. I cannot make out any words, simply whispers that fade into the back of my memory. I should listen to him, but I cannot face his voice. His voice, the way his eyes pierce into me, the way he grins and the lines that crease his face when enraged, even how he carries himself. It's all too familiar.

So familiar and he's not even mine.

It terrifies me

I won't let that potential grow. By the gods I'll stop it myself if I have to. He will never realize it.

Never be like me.

Or Him.

The rain pelts down on my shoulders, a few drops hit my nose and cheek, cooling the heated flesh. It's a generous distraction. Something needs to jar me from my thoughts occasionally, something aside The Boy, which invades my every moment with his being. Not even my meditations will soothe the turmoil he creates.

It has long since ceased to matter if he tries to please me or not . . .So long as he is no Daimao.

That evil will never be resurrected.

I hear him shift again, this time more than before. He's directly in front of me now, the wind no longer bites at my chest. His breath is like a metronome set to be slow. I am not the calm one now. But I will not move. Like a mantis I will listen and wait. What is he up to?

He shifts once more before all falls silent to the storm, whose presence pervades this sanctuary. All is still and he is still here.

Then it was warm.

For the briefest of moments, the sensation of warmth was on his cheek. It faded all to soon, only to be replaced by cold, clammy, and wet. It was pouring now. Irritation. Five needle-like pains rested gently on his chilled skin. Out of reflex I snapped open my eyes, my arm instinctually lashed out to strike whatever was the cause of this.

But my arm stopped short.

No, it was not that.

It was blocked.

When my vision came into focus, I saw The Boy. His hand, firmly gripped around my arm, his talons digging into the armored patches, straining to keep me from moving. And there it was, that damned grin.

_That_ grin that my sire had.


	3. And so it Begins

"Now we're so cold and you're not mine."

-"Cold" Evans Blue

* * *

The drive to work had been an especially long one that morning. Not that anything about a two-hour drive is short, but there was too much on his mind, too much in his home, too much in his life. _Too much_. At least the rain had subsided for the most part. The roads were still slick, unfortunately, and there would always be some young fools prowling around without the basic knowledge of how to handle any weather conditions whatsoever. With a sigh, Gohan pulled into the teacher's parking lot of Satan City High School, which in actuality was the same Orange Star he knew, but the name had changed shortly after the death of the so-called 'hero' (which he couldn't really argue about considering who he married). It suited him well enough that all the academic club shirts still had the orange star logo and name on the back.

Straightening what he could of his disastrously wrinkled top and adjusting his glasses so they rested perfectly on his nose, Gohan primed himself slightly using the rear-view mirror. The corners of his lips tugged downward as he noticed the first bit of peppering in his hair, right behind his temples. That must have come from his mother's side of the family; surely he was too young to have graying hair and he certainly wasn't stressed. Not stressed at all. Combing a hand over the scrubble on his face, he opened the car door and stepped out, toting his brief case, which held the paragon of scholarly excellence within.

The bell rang far too early. Glancing down at his watch, he groaned audibly. The bell wasn't early he was simply late. Again. He was starting to make a career out of this. Had he not been the head of the English department, he probably would have his milk crate in his hands instead of his work. By the time he hit the hallways, little more than left over food wrappers and discarded papers were strewn about. His classroom, a former lecture hall, was barely half filled today. He counted himself lucky that so many had bothered to show up. If only they showed enough motivation to pass.

The room was a rather bleak black and white, with an obnoxious burnt orange stripe that bordered the top of the room. The black and white tiles had to bother him the most for they had no actual pattern to them. Generally he'd step on only the black or the white tiles, but sometimes they were just too far apart, which limited his motion while traversing the room. Thankfully, he figured out all conceivable ways between the door, his desk, and the chalkboard. Taking special care to only walk on the black tiles today (for it was Monday and naturally that was the only way things like this should be conducted) he slouched to his desk. It was a rather stark little thing that would normally be in good and proper order, but recently had slipped into the depths of decay. A few papers were out of place. He popped open the latches of his briefcase and peered into it contemptuously. There were some wonderful tests lying on the top, which he quickly shoved aside. Underneath was a fresh ream of paper that he had printed off the night before that detailed the homework assignments for this quarter. The school printers rarely had toner anymore.

"Now class," he started, pulling the intimidating stack of papers out and setting them on the faux wood desk. "The end of the quarter is soon and we'll be finishing our last book by the end of this month so we can move on to one act comedy plays." Not that this wasn't comic enough as is.

Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, he filed through them then unlocked the bottom right drawer of his desk and pulled out fifteen books. Being especially careful, he walked by everyone's desk and placed a book on it all while silently cursing his new seating arrangement. He had moved all the desks into a large semi-circle with two rows. The administrators seemed to think this configure would help unwilling students learn better. Some kids prodded at the book and groaned loud enough to draw the attention of everyone else in the room while others peeked their heads up only long enough to glance at the cover before resuming nap time.

"Invisible Man" Gohan spoke clearly as he wrote the title on the front board.

"The science fiction novel?" A student in the back piped up with seeming interest.

"No, that would be _The Invisible Man_, this is _Invisible Man_ by Ralph Ellison. Are any of you familiar with the name?" He didn't bother waiting for a reply before he sat on the corner of his desk, nudging the pink-tinted glass pyramid paperweight out of the way before he did.

As he expected, the dull buzz of the overhead lighting was first to respond.

"Anyway," Gohan started and flipped open to page one of his copy of the book; his students followed suit, well, some of them did anyway. "This is not a science fiction; I'm sure many of you are disappointed. However, I think you'll find this novel interesting, it's a Bildungsroman novel." He paused and leered over his glasses, seeing that he had completely lost his audience. " Meaning it's a coming of age story, so to speak. The protagonist matures throughout the plot and seeks enlightenment, which leads to rejection of society's pressure to conform." A few heads rose. "Well, I won't ruin the story. I expect everyone to have the first two chapters read by next class period—and yes, there will be tests on it."

The moaning of his students made a nice chorus while he passed back the papers he had graded the night before and the new assignment. Needless to say, the moans became louder as he did. He spent the remainder of the period explaining the homework, which consisted of a chapter-by-chapter reading log and several short essay questions. By the time he finally got to sit in his seat, the bell rang and the students sped out to their next class, which he guessed to be infinitely more interesting than his. Students out of sight, Gohan allowed himself to not only sit, but completely collapse in his rickety old chair like a rag doll that had been cast aside by a careless child. Small beads of sweat graced his brow and he absently wiped the back of his sleeve across his forehead and let his arm stay there, covering his eyes. The morning had barely begun and he was already feeling like it was time to exit stage left.

"Mr. Son . . ." A timid voice chirped at the doorway to his classroom.

Lifting his arm just enough to glance in the voice's direction, he half-heartedly attempted to smile despite the fact this was he free period and he did not want to be bothered for any natural reason. "Yes, miss Hoer?" He took special care to pronounce the name like 'hair' as he had made a rather embarrassing blunder the other day about it.

The pale-skinned, brown-eyed girl stepped forward, her shoes making an irritating scraping noise against the tile. Her hair was as brown as her eyes and garnished with a small red bow that matched her top "I really like the book, but . . ." She bit her lip in the way that most schoolgirls did around him. "But it's just very different from the last few books we've read—it wasn't in the lesson plan, I checked."

"That's the great thing about writing your own lesson plans, they don't always apply." He had managed to smile at the fact that she noticed. "I always wanted to teach this book in previous years but never got around to it. I figured you'd rather read this than Wuthering Heights. I don't even want to read that book." A soft laugh passed through his lips.

"Yeah, I guess." Her shoes must have been especially interesting, for her eyes never left sight of them for a moment.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Ms. Hoer?" He was all too familiar with this situation and found the opportunity to lock his briefcase and place it in the larger desk drawer before collecting his keys and placing them in his pant pocket. There was no way he was going to stay here unless she genuinely needed help.

"I—I guess not." Babbling some inaudible words, she fussed with her hair, which as pretty as it was, didn't interest Gohan in the slightest.

"Well, if you think of any questions, save them for next class period. I bet they'd be a great contribution to the in-class discussion." With that, he stood from his seat and walked towards the door, holding it open for the young, now blushing girl, out of common courtesy, before leaving himself.

This was going to be a long day.

By the time the final bell rang, Gohan's appearance was similar to that of a drowned rat. His hair was disheveled, shirt even more wrinkled (if at all humanly possible), and his pant leg now had a wonderful coffee stain compliments of a temperamental pot in the teacher's lounge. Long after the students had barreled out of the doors, he left. It was a very serene place when there was a lack of raging hormones in the air.

There was something wrong. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. It was the feeling of moths, yes, moths in his gut. Sliding into his car, he soon came to rest his head on the steering wheel, staring down at the floor. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and called home to Videl.

The friendly voice greeted him cheerfully. At least someone was glad to hear from him today.

"Hey, sweetie, I'm going to be home a little late, I'm going to check on an old friend. I'll be back before dinner time."

Videl made a slight noise of disappointment before telling him that it was pot roast night to ensure that he would, in fact, be home at a decent hour. Saying his goodbyes, he hung up the phone and looked to the west. Even though the view was blacked by all manner of office building and skyscraper, his mind's eye could clearly see the thickly wooded forest and feel the refreshing mist of the waterfall on his skin.

This was a trip too long overdue.

A trip home.


	4. Tears and Rain

"The best thing that one can do when it rains is let it rain."

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

* * *

From the moment he pulled out of the parking lot he knew that he was signing himself up for a long and dreary night. The rain splashed underneath his tires and blinded his windshield as he drove toward his mountain home. It was a serene place that smelled of fresh pine and wild grasses, of playful afternoons and of fishing in the pond as a kid. Perhaps that's why he chose to stay there after he married Videl. Kami knows with his inheritance from not only the Ox King but from Mr. Satan he could have moved anywhere he so chose and lived the life that few men can only dream of. Truth be known, he never had to work a day in his life, but he chose to. Chichi always wanted him to be a scholar and out of respect more than actual desire, he became one. He was probably one of the few teachers at Satan City High that could brag that title. Even now he questioned why he took that job . . . but it just seemed to be the right thing to do at the time, with Pan being a teenager then. All that was so long ago, he shouldn't dwell on it. He was happy enough where he was, right?

He could see the trees in detail now, their tall boughs reaching toward the heavens like praising arms. Pine, maple, aspen, a veritable cornucopia of nature that, anywhere else on this entire planet, would nowhere be found together; it evoked a small smile from him. Long ago would he romp through the forest, just as a little tot, and climb the trees, pretending he was Tarzan. The deeper he would go, the more magical things became, also the more dangerous. O' mother use to always have a fit when he came back dirty and scratched up, telling glorious tales of dinosaurs and lagoon creatures . . . and of aliens. Looking back, he doubted that she believed any of it. The woods were always so peaceful and quiet on the outer fringes. She never would wander into them, not at night anyway. She still refused, but he believed it was more because of old age than anything. He was going to be thirty-eight this year. Unbelievable. He felt so young, albeit not like he was seventeen again, but still, far too young to be nearing forty.

He and Videl had long discussed having another child. For the longest time they argued about it and eventually she gave in to his pleas, but it was too late. Months had passed without any success, which strained their relationship greatly. She never told him that she could no longer bear children. When the doctor confirmed this, it nearly crushed him, but he said nothing. There was simply nothing he could say in good faith. Things have been different since then. The loving touches faded into memory; she could hardly stand to be close to him in that way. Yes, he did try; he encouraged her at every turn, but all to no cause. He had always wanted a little boy . . .

With a sigh and a heavy heart he stopped the car at the fork in the road. One path was paved and gave away to gravel, the other was more of a large hiking trail that began in the thick mud and ended in grassy plains. The latter path would take him through the woods, to the very center and out again if he avoided the warning signs; the first path, which is the one he would normally take every day, lead him up the side of the mountain on a railed path that would ultimately take him home. He turned off the car and reclined in his seat. The rain and the skies were beginning to lighten. Perhaps soon the sun would even come out, but he didn't invest much hope in that prospect. He glanced down at his attire, then at the two pathways before him. It was time to take the hard road, for once. He reached into the backseat and grabbed a package of capsules. His wife had called him insane for investing in emergency gear capsules, but he doubted that she ever once thought that they were for her benefit, no his. Despite that, he had managed to prepare a capsule that contained some older clothes that were already weatherworn and a pair of work boots that had seen better days. Pushing his seat back all the way, he popped the capsule and started his outfit change. In retrospect, he should have invested a little more cash and gotten the capsules that would automatically dress you, but it seemed like such a silly thing to worry about at the time (besides, these came in a ten pack for half price).

With his old physics club t-shirt and matching hooded jacket with a rather sorry excuse for ripped up, patched, should-have-been-thrown-out jeans and boots, he stepped out of the car, and with the accompanying capsule, packed the vehicle up. Before he set off, he zipped up his coat and pulled the hood over his head, making sure everything was well in order before his trod through the mud and debris. The way before him was long and winding, and if he wasn't careful, he'd be traveling in circles for hours. Even after a lifetime spent in these woods, it was still the easiest thing to become lost. The first step into the mud was the worst, as he found himself sinking an inch or two into the muck. He couldn't help but to groan as he did before pulling his foot out and placing the other one in front of him. It had been years since he'd taken this same journey and it was all coming back to him at an agonizingly slow pace. He continued on with his head held toward the sky. He wasn't so deep into the trees that he had lost sight of the blue-gray sea above him. There were times when he would sit in his back yard and simply stare up at the sky that he could touch if he so wanted, but this was different. Normally he would simply rise above the ground and soar among the treetops, weave in and out of them, but not now, not like this. In fact, he could hardly recall the last time he had traversed the entire forest by foot, or if he even had to begin with.

Things were so different now. Memories of flowers blooming in early spring and vines creeping along the ground and the lushness of the bush threatening to conquer the path were all but gone. The grasses to either side of him were yellowed, still partially deadened by the frost that hung over the area. A few weed-like flowers reared their heads from under the brush, but their pimpled faces could not compare with the wildflowers of times past. Yet it was still beautiful, like tears in the rain. That was certainly something he remembered, for it was not all that long ago when he saw them. He had asked the person why he was crying in the rain, curious as to why he was crying at all, it was so unlike him. He received a smile in return and a whisper that simply said so no one would notice.

Perhaps that's why he felt comfort in the rain. It was more than just words, tears and rain.

He passed the first stop on his muddy trek, an old willow tree that must have been planted well over a century ago. They weren't even native to this area, but then, very few things he found in this place were actually suppose to be here. It was part of the magic. And so he continued on, taking long, confident steps. It was becoming easier to walk the deeper he went in. In some places not even the rain cold penetrate the foliage. Why didn't he come here more often? There is always time in life for this. But what was he going to say once he reached his destination? 'Hi, how are you, I haven't bothered to see if you've been alive for the past couple years, so I thought I'd drop in and make sure!' No, that wouldn't do at all. What about 'Just taking a stroll to the deepest, darkest place in the woods and I happened to bump into you, what a coincidence?' Nah, not that either. Of all the times to run out of words, something that never ever happened normally, why now? Well, things could certainly be worse. At least Piccolo seemed to want to see him; he made the first move this morning. Nothing could have changed since then, could they?

The path finally gave away to the light grasses of spring. Finally, something was green at the appropriate time of year. The valley was quite a charming little thing. Tiny blue and white flowers dotted the landscape like hundreds of little sprites waiting to play their trickery on you. If you tried hard enough, you could even see the tops of the redwoods from the distance. He would have to bring Videl here sometime; she loved this kind of stuff, even though she rarely voiced it. Standing completely still, he could hear the birdsong and the gentle, near inaudible roar of the waterfalls from the distance. He knew exactly where he was. Soon the valley would give away to some rather mundane hills and eventually slopes and cliffs before joining into the mountain range. But he wasn't going towards any of those. He was going in quite the opposite direction to a place he affectionately dubbed the 'Blue Lagoon'. Not that the place was either blue or a lagoon, but because of the rather ridiculous amount of absurd plant life that existed there. It was something one really has to see for themselves to describe. Lost in his own mind, Gohan began to change his stride. A merry hop took the place of the otherwise close and calculated steps. It was as though in this moment, he was free.

Then he saw it, out of the corner of his eye, a slight glint. Jarred from his thoughts he stopped and glanced over again, but it was gone. There hadn't been any large predators in this area since Piccolo had taken up residence. This only heightened his interest. With slow measure, he advanced towards the area that caught his eye. When he arrived, all he found was a small pool of water, a puddle really, and a few large rocks that looked to be granite. He was a bout to turn back onto his course before he noticed footprints leading further into the thickets- rather smears of mud where something had ran, a fairly large, upright something. Piccolo?

Against his better judgment, he followed them. A knot started building in stomach, yet he couldn't explain why. Piccolo wouldn't normally flee from him. Was it really even Piccolo that he saw? There weren't any other creatures he knew that could evade him with such haste, and definitely no animal could do it without making a noise. He ran his hand over his forehead and brushed his hood down so it wouldn't have to fight with his hair anymore. He really did need to get it trimmed up again. The footsteps ended at a point, or rather turned in circles, as thought the person they belonged to did not know where to go. They picked up about thirty feet east of where they ended. Only this time they showed the sole of the foot and three distinct imprints of claws. This was odd. A small muffled sound caught his ears. As he tracked the source, the footprints ended once again. They had brought him to the waterfall, just slightly before it. He never knew about this shortcut . . .

This was one of the handful of waterfalls Piccolo use to frequent. He remembered it as thought it was only yesterday. This one had water that ran like ink, it was so dark, yet was pure and clear, probably one of the best ones to drink out of. He remembered skipping stones across the small basin at the bottom. He use to be able to skip them completely across to the other side. With newfound inspiration, he trotted alongside the border of the pool, smiling at his own rippled reflection in the water. But he had that feeling, the feeling of being watched. He looked about him, only to have nothing reveal itself.

"Piccolo?" He said firmly as he tried to detect the presence he was sure was there.

And there was something there, but it wasn't his former teacher. No, this energy signature was completely different. A scuffle came from behind him, followed by a low half gurgling, half growling noise. This was a creeper.

"_Mrhh._" Came the reply. It was a guttural sound, full of interest.

Gohan sighed but didn't bother turning around. He was not yet sure of whether to be worried or not. "Have you seen him around?" He paused, waiting for an answer, but to no avail. "I need to speak with Piccolo." The last words were spoken slowly, in a lower tone.

"Heh."

'Heh'? The replay to his question was a reluctant 'heh'? He wasn't quite annoyed, but he was getting there. Normally, taking into consideration that such a thing as normality could exist right now, he would have stopped to converse with his company, but now was simply not the time, especially since all his questions were about this person and to ask them firsthand would simply be inappropriate.

"That was rude."

"And you refusing to _face_ me when you talk is any better?"

The voice made him jump. It was deeper than he remembered it being, much deeper. Dear Kami how long had it been since they had seen each other? Three years? Five? More? For the love of all that was good and holy, the kid's voice was deeper than his! There was no point in fighting in, he had to turn around, the only problem was, he wasn't ready for what he found.

The kid dwarfed him! The kid that he had taught to read and write and play was now staring down at the top of his head! What madness was this? Not only was he a full head taller than Gohan, but all his features, those baby doll things that had made him an adorable (yet slightly pathetic) little kid, had grown gaunt and hardened. He swore that if he tried, he could light a match on any part of The Boy's face, especially those cheekbones and that raptor-nose. You could put an eye out with that thing! Was that little spot lining his jaw? Yes it was, it was _facial hair_. Could he even grow—I guess he obviously can. This was too weird, far too weird. Yet somehow, he did look a little like Pic . . .But you had to really look for it. He couldn't help but to stand there with his mouth agape at the sight before him. Sure it looked goofy and probably a bit scary, but it was called for in this occasion.

The Boy simply kept staring at him, never breaking eye contact. He felt like a show horse on display, but it was a welcomed feeling. At least it was preferable over loneliness. He wasn't sure whether he should move on or smile or ask a question. He had never had a need for such responses; he had been virtually alone all this time, except for the rare occasion.

"H-How have you been?" Gohan finally managed to sputter out as he stepped towards The Boy.

Out of reflex more than actual will, The Boy stepped back. "Piccolo left some time ago- I don't know where he is." As much as he would have liked to sound calm and collected, he spat the words out like venom, which made Gohan cringe slightly.

"Do you remember who I am? It's me, Gohan, from up the Mountain, rem—"

"You must think I'm stupid."

Gohan arched a brow. What was that suppose to mean? It's not like that was a dumb question, or was it? It had been so many years; you never know what someone will remember in that time.

A long pause came between them.

"I know who you are. You're the man he wanted me to be."

Oh . . .

It was starting to make sense now. He watched The Boy fold his arms over his chest and look to the jet-black pond, finally breaking their stare down. For the second time today he didn't know what to say. His lips moved but no words came out. So they stood there, Gohan pleading with his eyes for The Boy to speak up, to say something, while the other remained in practiced silence, trying to avoid the situation.

Someone had to make the move; it might as well be him. Gohan inched forward. He was certain if he made any sudden moves, The Boy would dart away into parts of the forest he had not even seen before and it'd be murder trying to hunt him down. As he planned, the kid didn't move, not even a cautious twitch of the ears to see what was going on. Maybe he could touch him? Just a tiny touch—oh what was he thinking? This wasn't some circus animal in a petting zoo! This was his best friend's son? Relation? What was he? Nevermind that- that can be used for later contemplation, this was the here and now!

The Boy didn't move when he touched his shoulder. He could feel the heavy bone structure underneath and the wiry muscle contracting under his fingertips. The kid's breath hitched slightly; the poor thing was almost trembling under the touch. He probably wasn't use to it. Gohan couldn't help but to grin. For lack of a better term, this was 'cool'. He slid his hand from The Boy's shoulder to his neck. This kid was a giraffe. His finger caught onto a lock of ebony hair . . . but it wasn't soft. It wasn't anywhere near soft. The hair was bristly and somewhat rough, yet its appearance didn't warn you of it. He let his hand slide slightly farther down the back of the kid's neck. The hair seemed to follow the path of the kid's spine. This was wild. He really was an animal. The Boy shifted on his feet slightly and fidgeted under the touch. Gohan pulled back. The Boy had a rather disgruntled look on his face; it showcased his slightly crooked teeth and fangs nicely. In that moment, Gohan could see Piccolo.

So it was there.

"Sorry, you're just so . . . odd." Gohan blurted without much thought, too caught in the moment to really consider his words.

"Odd from the person who just attempted to feel me up?" Instead of continuing the conversation, The Boy turned on his heels and began walking off . . .slowly. "Piccolo will be back here before sunset."

Gohan stood there for a few seconds, recalling his actions before he cringed. He hadn't seen the kid in years then just decided to touch him? Stupid, stupid—this kid was related to the king of not liking to be touched. This was turning out to be a good impression he was making.

"I guess I'll see you around then?" Gohan managed to sputter out to the kid's back. He didn't expect any response and likewise didn't get one. He had to be home before dark anyway or else dinner would be completely cold, as would his bedroom tonight.

When Gohan went back onto his original path, The Boy stopped and looked back, almost lamenting the fact that he didn't follow. He was going to take him to Piccolo . . . the namek was only a field away.


	5. In The Forest Deep

"_Indifference is the strongest force in the universe. It makes everything it touches meaningless. Love and hate don't stand a chance against it._" – Joan Vinge

* * *

**Oddities and Ends**

He was sure that Gohan was all but gone; that unsettling tinge that resided in the pit of his stomach, although still there, had diminished greatly. There was just something about that man that set him on edge, yet was familiar, welcoming. At the same time, he felt threatened. No matter how hard he tried, never would be able to hold even the dimmest candle to the Demon King's heart, the same heart that wrenched at the very sight of Gohan. It disgusted him. That look, that glance of admiration that Son had. His smile, his grin, the very clothes on his back and the way he walked and talked and combed his hair, bah. Filthy, dirty, vile creature. What was so special about being human, saiyan- whatever. Wasn't simply being good enough? Apparently not. Feh. Sometimes he cursed his own looks, not only were they in the least reminiscent of Son (which he was chided for in silence by his only companion), but they were polar opposites. While Gohan's onyx eyes were the very expression of softness and understanding most of the time, his were bottomless blue wells, perpetually narrowed and harsh; the rounded point of Gohan's nose that curved upward ever so slightly was compromised by a Roman nose that could very well have been sculpted of an uncanny green marble; the lips and that sickening signature grin that was so familiar to Gohan could only be countered by a crooked, toothy, thin-lipped sneer that was far more malicious than anything he could ever imagine the school teacher mustering. Even his hair, while raven like Son's held none of its luster or softness, instead it was coarse and almost bristly to the touch, but longer and clumped together in wiry spikes of varying thickness that would irritate one's fingertips who wished to comb through it. It would have been a better fortune to choke on his own bile and die than to continue on with these musings. After all, they would only matter to the people who knew him. No one, that's who.

Yet there was something he longed for in these fleeting, pestering moments. His vocabulary had long since failed him when it came to describing the feeling. It wasn't hate nor malice, jealousy, fury or even envy- all of those he was acutely versed in. No, this was different. It was the churning of his stomach and the heaviness of his eyelids when he looked upon Piccolo's real son; it was the cold sweat on his palms and the sandpapery feel of the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. There was something to be said about knowing that your destined place in the universe was usurped by someone who could do it better. And gods could he do it better.

Gohan the special one. Gohan the chosen one, the golden boy, the boy who could do no wrong, the perfect child. Not only was the beloved Gohan the strongest (living) being on earth, but he was a brilliant scholar, the picturesque husband, he was the only son Piccolo ever would have- the standard model of unobtainable perfection.

Whatever keys that man held to the Namek's heart were still firmly planted in his grasp. From the looks of things, they would forever remain there. Oh yes, he had seen it time and time again. Those endearing looks and the faint smiles Piccolo gave when Gohan was around. They might as well have been frolicking in a field of poppies. Laughter- they even laughed, granted Piccolo was hardly prone to anything more than an amused chuckle, but it was sincere. What he wouldn't give to be the one to evoke such joy from Piccolo. He wouldn't care what it cost.

Gohan would be the end of him

* * *

Did the boy really think he was so blind? Although strained, the bond that he and Piccolo had was not severed. The weak fluttering contact that he felt told him Piccolo was nearby, probably no more than a hundred yards from this spot. It wasn't the sort of thing he would tell The Boy though. He had the distinct feeling that he made the kid nervous, especially with that touch. In retrospect, maybe it was not the best idea to act upon, but it had to be done, just to make sure what he saw was _real_. It seemed like only yesterday the kid could barely touch the bottom of his chest and now, Kami . . . How things change. The Boy was what then, fifteen, sixteen. No, he couldn't have been older than that. He remembered last seeing him the summer before Pan went off to college. Granted he wasn't really paying attention to the kid then, but still. That would mean it had been… five years? Yeah, it had to be. Pan was going to be finishing her Master's this coming year. The Boy looked as though he was nearing his twenties, not barely into his teen years. The Namek genes must have had something to do with it. Kami knows what else that boy had running through him. Piccolo's boy- _the chimera_.

Gohan giggled to himself slightly as he hid among the trees. For having such long ears, The Boy seemed to take no notice of his surroundings. Obviously nothing had changed, the kid could hardly detect any fluctuation in ki, it seemed. What a pity, Pic' never did train the kid. For a few moments, he contented himself in watching the kid take timid steps, stopping all too often and suspiciously eyeing the landscape, before heading to a small path that lead to another field. Gohan cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. He knew that field all too well. It was probably still pitted from the sparing he and Piccolo had done all those years before, and best of all, that was where Piccolo was right now. He could feel it.

Instead of running unabashedly towards his old mentor, Gohan stayed where he was, waiting for the The Boy to be far enough ahead that even his thick ears couldn't detect his padded footsteps on the cold ground. With the low roaring of the waterfall nearby, he doubted that the kid would really notice much else anyway. A droplet of water plopped on his jacket. This weather was relentless.

He moved slowly around the little pond, glancing down at the water for a moment. He would have to come back here later, maybe tomorrow if he had time, and enjoy himself a little bit. But enough of that for now. He straightened his gaze ahead to the field. Blotchy rays of sunlight filtered through the clouds. It was like a little patch of heaven in the forest deep.

When he came to the edge of the path, he remained hidden by the foliage. Piccolo was there all right. The Namek's movements were smooth and graceful, like a river of liquid gold as he practiced his fighting techniques slowly, concentrating on every little strain of muscle he moved. His form was flawless as he glided through the tall grass silently. He was elegance embodied. If only others could see Piccolo for what he was- art in motion.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gohan spotted The Boy. He was about fifty feet away, standing to the side watching the performance with his arms crossed over his chest and his head lowered so that some of his quill-like hair rested over his face. He was staring daggers into Piccolo like some kind of angry, resentful 'emo' kid. Gohan couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. He had to deal with enough of those kinds of kids at school. Some things were universal, he guessed. The little voice inside of his head asked why the kid would be such a sour little piece of work, but in the end, he resolved that it was simply a matter of envy and spite. He felt a pang of sympathy for him, remembering The Boy being such a sickly little whelp of a thing, far too deathly for training. In all honesty it was a miracle he was still alive. Oh, the things he was so certain of.

Piccolo continued his training, something that few, Vegeta aside, found necessary in this day and age. It made Gohan long for the times that he would be alongside in battle with some new foe that, of all the planets in the universe, saw fit to destroy Earth. Things were really much more interesting when some terrible force was threatening to overthrow the world as he knew it, but he would never wish that actual harm came here. That would just be absurd, wouldn't it?

And then Piccolo stopped, halted, rather. His eyes flickered over to where Gohan was standing before quickly switching to The Boy. He had been found out, but it was not yet the time to reveal himself. Gohan had the distinct feeling that something very peculiar was about to happen.

The Boy was frozen there like a deer in the headlights as the two stared one another down. Piccolo made a soft grunting noise before assuming his normal position with his arms folded across his broad chest and his face set in a tense scowl. Gohan's eyes bounced between them, the two were almost identical. The Boy was the first to break code and advance towards Piccolo, thus ending their little game. His steps were slow and smooth- and cautious. He stopped in front of the man, leaving about a meter of space between them. Piccolo's brow ridge twitched noticeably, an action that seemed to cause The Boy to look away at a patch of grass that had suddenly become quite intriguing. The hard lines of Piccolo's face drew taught, intensifying his look of dissatisfaction. The Boy met his eyes again. They were softer than Gohan remembered seeing them. The Boy's lips parted, his face riddled with too many emotions to list, all of which showed the helplessness that must have resounded in his being. He _is_ young. The display did nothing but harden Piccolo, who let out a mild "_Feh_" in response. Gohan bit his lip, remembering all to well a similar chapter in his own life. For the kid's sake, he truly hoped Piccolo didn't find a suitable cliff or mountainside that needed 'redecorating'. The Boy whispered something that he couldn't quite pick up, but it caused Piccolo's stance to change, to ease his guard. Gohan poked his head around from a large maple that he had taken cover behind. As he did, Piccolo reassumed his typical stance. What was this? An eerie silence resided over the field.

The Boy's lips kept moving in short, haggard movements, he couldn't have said more than a few words at a time. Piccolo occasionally would move his head to indicate his disapproval, clearly disheartening the kid. The Boy's shoulders finally relaxed and his eyes were downcast. Piccolo's nostrils flared once before his lips tugged upward, revealing a sliver of his fanged teeth in utter contempt. The look was one Gohan remembered being given for the first couple weeks that he and Piccolo had become unwittingly acquainted. It nearly pained him to see the look being given to someone, his mother aside, as freely as it was to this boy, his boy.

The tiny voice in the back of his skull told Gohan that he should leave now, that he should go home and eat dinner with his wife and watch old reruns on TV, but none of that was going to happen, at least not right now. Piccolo had been acting more strangely than ever in he past few months, his ki fluctuating without cause in the middle of the night, as though there was some mysterious force setting him on edge. It couldn't be this kid, not for the life of him.

A soft gasp broke the stillness. Gohan refocused his concentration on the scene before him. Piccolo firmly held The Boy's arm by the wrist and must have been squeezing it intently, for the kid's entire arm was shaking ever so lightly. Something caught his eye, a series of bruises along the same arm with the same four-fingered grip marks. He hadn't noticed them before . . .

Piccolo and his boy stood there for what brief moments they could remain in contact with one another, both with a hardened grimace smeared across their features. Eventually Piccolo cast the arm away from his grasp and The Boy took several steps backwards and absently ran his fingers over the newly forming bruise. Piccolo about-faced and started to leave, but before he could a hand latched onto his shoulder pad. The grip could have been broken by a quick swat of the hand, but Piccolo didn't even move.

The Boy looked as though he was a king who had lost his country.

Slowly (hesitantly?) Piccolo continued on his course, letting the hand slide off his shoulder and spider through the fabric of his cape as he left. He had been able to go no more than several arm lengths away before the kid spoke. Gohan strained to make out what The Boy had said, but the words were all but lost to him. Piccolo half-turned to face The Boy once more with narrow eyes that, this time, were not plagued with anger, but confusion. The kid straightened himself and exhaled noisily through his nose.

"I will not resent you . . ." The Boy paused, collecting another breath and making sure that Piccolo was listening. " . . .As you do me."

It was then that Piccolo did something very un-Piccolo like. He stepped towards The Boy, who stepped back to compensate, and with one very strong, swift arm, embraced him. The contact was not warm, in fact, it was a rather strained gesture that seemed to make Piccolo's teeth grind together as he did it; but The Boy just stood there, ramrod stiff, as though he was paralyzed by the sheer disbelief of what had just occurred. As soon as it had happened, it was over, and Piccolo abruptly broke away and walked his own path, leaving The Boy standing there like a lost little puppy. There was nothing more that Gohan wanted to do than rush over to the man who had practically raised him and bombard him with questions that would be spat out in a torrent, but all he could find himself doing was staring at Piccolo's back as his cape fluttered in the slight breeze. It had started to rain while he was in his reverie. By the looks of things, it was getting late, but he wasn't ready to leave yet. It wouldn't be right to leave now- but he had to.

Like so many other times in his life, there was simply nothing he could do.

Not now, anyway.

With a forlorn sigh, he pushed himself away from the tree and started back on the path from whence he came when something told him to turn back around. Gohan glanced over his shoulder only to meet eyes with The Boy. The mutual look of shock quickly faded to hurt and then compensating anger on the younger one's face. The Boy sneered in the practiced way that Piccolo so often did, then shook his head, causing his black hair to fall tousled across his face, and grinned. Gohan paused for an instant and committed to memory that highly skewed grin that arched up, favoring the right side. It was the Daimao grin, the very one that had been passed onto Piccolo himself by his father and now, to this boy. Gohan for some reason didn't feel comfortable completely turning his back on the kid and waited till his junior left of his own accord in the opposite way Piccolo was heading.

* * *

The trip home was a short one, but felt unbearably long. By the time he had taken flight, the clouds had started pouring down their needle-like wrath upon him. His eyes were faintly reddened from the stinging droplets. Thoroughly soaked and late to boot, he stepped onto the front porch of his house. Regardless of what one may think of the accommodations that a Literature teacher may have, his home was rather cozy, far more amiable than what he had grown up with (an effect to which the inheritances from both the Ox King and Hercule had allowed for many, many times over.). He took special care to remove his shoes before entering and let them set on the welcome mat. Videl had insisted on getting the wooden floors refinished so that they would shine. He couldn't imagine what for, but in such matters he was not one to argue past the utterance of "Yes, Dear." With a groan, Gohan slipped off his old jacket and shook it off slightly before placing it over his left arm and opening the door. The house was alive with flavor. Scents of freshly roasted meat and vegetables wafted through every part of the house. Silently, he thanked his mother for teaching the rather lost Videl the secrets to a hungry Saiyan's heart. He hung his coat on the rack to dry and started up the stairs to his bedroom to change, as presenting himself in wet dog form was not likely to please the missus.

As he toweled himself off, he stopped to think about what he had seen today. The whole ordeal struck him as odd. Maybe if he could catch Piccolo at an appropriate time to talk things would make more sense. He had the full intention of conversing with the man today, but the timing was bad and no one wants to deal with an irate Namek, least of all one with a fuse that has been slowly burned down . Pulling a plain black T-shirt from his closet as well as a matching pair of loose leisure pants, he slowly started to undress, far too concentrated on the myriad of questions that danced around his mind.

The tiniest squeak of the door alerted him to his wife's presence, he had been too occupied to notice her coming. She obviously wasn't that happy, yet her face didn't reflect the fact too much. Her raven hair had grown long, threatening to sweep the middle of her back, and was starting to become wavy. She had recently dyed it- again, for the few strands of graying hair that he remembered from mornings past were gone. He never understood why she was so adamant about preserving her youth, but suspected that it had something to do with him and his Saiyan genes, which allowed his looks to belittle his age. He continued changing in front of her; they were far past the stages of blushing at one another. She probably wouldn't even take a peek anymore.

"Dinner's waiting for you on the table." Her voice was like honey and the newly formed smile on her face appeared to be sincere. He wondered what was wrong.

"I'll be right down." He took the time to adjust the furled waistband on his pants that was chafing him lightly.

Without further comment she disappeared back down the stairs to the dining room. Gohan sighed, taking a few personal minutes to collect his thoughts before following her.

The dinner, as always, was quite good and he devoured it in less than a tenth of the time it took to prepare. Videl was barely half through before they finally managed to speak.

"So," Her voice interjected, prying Gohan away from his contemplations of the empty plate. "How did you visit go," she paused, taking a bite "with Piccolo. Is he doing okay?"

Gohan met her eyes and offered a weak smile. "Well, he's been better. I think he just gets lonely out there by himself."

Videl took a small bite of her food and quirked her eyebrow. "But I thought he wasn't alone, he has that kid, oh, what's his name again. It's been so long I can't remember."

The expression on his face saddened, something Videl noticed immediately. "Oh, that's right." The words came slowly "Piccolo never gave him a name, neither did Bulma . . . But he's being fairly typical of himself; 'kid's grown a lot." Gohan's eyes widened and he rested his chin between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. "A lot."

"Really now?" Videl stood to remove their plates.

"Yeah, can you believe he's taller than I am now; still kind of rat skinny and sickly looking, but tall. I have the feeling he'll fill out in a year or two, you know how boys are."

She rinsed the dishes off before placing them in the dishwasher. "Well, he'll have to come over sometime to eat. I haven't seen him in ages, it'd be nice."

"Well I don't know about that." The suddenness of his reply made Videl turn to face him.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to spook the kid. He was nervous enough as is when I saw him today. I really don't think either of you would be ready to see each other." Videl returned his utterances with _the look_.

"He's nothing like you would remember, sweetie. That face could cut stone and those talons, it'd just be a lot for you to take in at one time. He's not the waist-high, red-nosed moptop that he use to be."

"And what's the real reason you're concerned?" She shifted her weight onto the other hip and stood there with her arms crossed. He needed to learn how to tell better half-truths than that.

Gohan was muted for a few seconds before he met her eyes directly. "He makes me worry. It's nothing, really, just not use to seeing all the kids grow up. Have you seen Bra lately? Good Kami." He staggered a laugh and hoped she'd let his excuses fly.

Thankfully, she nodded, albeit curtly, and returned to loading the dishwasher, allowing him to slip away to the recesses of his study for the night.

* * *

As daylight finally drew into the darkened grasp of midnight, Gohan remained awake, sitting at his desk with a glass of cool water in hand, and looking out the picture window. He had remained in the study since dinner doing all manner of things, but mostly thinking. What would happen in the next couple of days? Would Piccolo really even want to see him anymore? Obviously he would, the man had come to visit not but this morning. Certainly things had not changed so much since- then again, this was Piccolo he was talking about. The man was about as aloof as they came. He took a lengthy sip of his water before placing the glass squarely on the coaster and folding his arms loosely across his stomach.

The stars, in all their brilliance, were out, radiating across the expansive mountains. One could not put a price on this beauty. He was thankful for what distractions he could afford, but he wouldn't have to worry for long. It would only be another month before Pan would return home from the university. Sure enough, she had her own place, but she would always come back for the first week or two of summer and spend some time eating real food and catching up. To be honest, he looked forward for those few precious weeks every year. Gohan reclined further back into his chair, making it creak as he did. He was usually in bed hours ago, but tonight sleep did not come so easy. His window faced the beginning of the great wooded expanse that he had trekked earlier, and for now, it was his duty to keep watch over it. It was a silly thing to do, he was certain, but nevertheless, he felt that he was compelled to do it.

He remained there for the better part of an hour before exhaustion, not sleep, started to claim him. With the used glass in hand, he stuttered to his feet and turned towards the kitchen to place his glass in the sink. When he arrived in the room, he sighed and tilted his head back, suppressing a burp from the food he had eaten all those hours ago. The kitchen window that overlooked the sink lead directly into the side yard, where Lucifer, the pintsized barking menace was sleeping peacefully. Seeing that all was well, Gohan walked towards the stairs that lead to the bedroom, where his wife was undoubtedly sleeping peacefully. No sooner than he had reached the banister, the little dog started barking and rattling the side of the chain fence that kept him in. He could hear himself groan as he shifted around to go back to the window to see what this nonsense was about. There was a low growling sound coming from outside then all fell silent. Gohan gripped the counter and leaned forward to get a better look out of the glass. Lucifer's quivering nose was poking out of the doghouse- he was staring directly into the quiet woods-

-and the footprints that lead into them.


	6. Seven Star

"While I was traveling up the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today. I wish, I wish he'd go away" - paraphrased from William Hughes Mearns' _Antigonish_

* * *

_Invisible Man._ The words were neatly printed on the chalkboard. Gohan set down his stub of chalk and brushed his hands together to rid them of excess powder. He gazed into his crowd of students. The numbers had dwindled from fifteen to a mere ten, but he wasn't about to let that discourage him. After all, as long as one student showed up, he was compelled to teach, or dismiss them to the computer lab so he could have a second planning period, both good options. Out of those who had bothered to show up, only three had actually read the first two chapters he had assigned, and all but one, who was resuming his sleep, had printed out the cliff notes and were blatantly scanning them as class commenced.

Normally, Gohan would have snatched the cliff notes away, but today he was simply thankful that these kids had applied some effort, despite how little, to at least consider his lessons. Sitting down on the corner of his desk, displacing the rose colored paperweight from its normal spot, he fiddled with the quizzes he was about to administer. Despite his reputation for having a difficult class, Gohan's tests were quite easy. He made a point to never have a right or wrong answer, but graded on how well one could explain their reasoning- so long as it was related to the question he asked. Readjusting his glasses, he read the first and only question silently to himself:

' _1.) What does it mean to be an Invisible Man? '_

Pleased with his work, he started passing out the quizzes, taking special care to only walk on the white tiles today, lest he throw off the universe by stepping on the wrong color. With that small task out of the way, he sat at his desk and started reading the book he had assigned, going over chapter two for what must have been the fiftieth time this week. Halfway through, a passage caught his eye.

" I had a feeling that your people were somehow connected with my destiny. That what happened to you was connected with what would happen to me . . ."

He stopped reading and quirked an eyebrow up at his students, who were watching him intently. He must have read it aloud. Closing the book and setting it on the upper right corner of his desk, where all current books obviously belonged, he folded his arms over his chest.

"Are you all finished?" Gohan's voice was near monotone as he spoke; something was bothering him today.

"Not yet!" A voice from the front and center chirped as the little hands belonging to it scrawled furiously on the back of the paper.

Gohan sighed and tilted back in his seat. "Ms. Hoer, you were only supposed to write one paragraph."

"I-I know." Her voice was sheepish as her baby cheeks turned beet red.

He only nodded and waited until she was finished writing to collect the papers. For the time being, he sat them on the desk, having much more dire things to do at the moment than check over work.

It was a fact that Gohan was a meticulous man. Every action he took was planned to some degree; if he had it his way, there would have been a set schedule for the world to run on. But seeing as how fantasyland was not involved with the present, he contented himself to musing with one of his many lesson plans. Now, he knew which one he wanted to cover today. He was going to talk about the symbols in the first few chapters and give a brief synopsis of what had already happened. Following that up, he was going to write on the board in large, bold letters explaining the meaning of the words theme, motif, and repetition.

But he didn't.

The chalk was in his hands and he was standing in front of the board, not making a sound. A few of his students eyed him cautiously, but stayed in silence. Finally, the chalk fell from his grasp and rolled under the desk.

"Mr. Son?" An all too familiar voice spoke.

Gohan spun around with a quickness that surprised the class; they all sat up straight in their seats.

"You're not really interested in this, are you? Gohan's voice was oddly calm as he sat on the edge of his desk again, this time with his arms folded across his stomach.

It took a few moments for anyone to answer, but the general notion was a strong 'No'.

"I didn't think so" Gohan stretched his arms over his head before peeling off the suit jacket he had worn today and cast it to the ground. The pupils looked on with wide eyes as Gohan laid down across his desk, ruffling all the papers and even knocking a couple things off. "Then lets cover something more interesting."

If there was ever a time where the phrase 'shock and awe' were to be relevant, then it was now. Not even the commonly buzzing lights made themselves known. "How many of you have younger siblings?"

A few hands raised in the air.

"Not as many as I thought. I suppose some of you are the youngest." Gohan chuckled and the class was utterly bewildered. "I have one, Goten." Gohan stopped and smiled faintly. "He's still driving me crazy all these years later when he has his own apartment in the city and a steady girlfriend whose name I really didn't care to remember; he always had a thing for blonde bombshells."

"Mr. Son" The timid voice in the front of the class asked. Ms. Hoer was fiddling with the blue ribbon in her hair as she spoke. "Are you all right?"

Gohan actually laughed, albeit softly at her question, and her cheeks flushed crimson red.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, just trying to get people to talk, but it's not working."

"What about your lesson plan?"

"My lesson plan is what I say it is." He said with a slight smirk, but that smirk faded when Ms. Hoer, blushing like the giddy school girl she was, turned away and giggled.

This wasn't going well.

"But-" Gohan righted himself and straightened out the wrinkles in his shirt. "Maybe it's time to discuss what it really means to be invisible."

The rest of the class period carried on as unexpected. There was a thrilling discussion about invisibility, which was mostly off topic anyway, and several lapses in Gohan's memory where he completely had zoned out from what he was doing and simply let the students converse amongst themselves. When the bell rang, Gohan gathered the quizzes he had administered and glanced over them for the first time. Most of them were fairly typical three to five sentence paragraphs riddled with spelling and grammatical errors, all except two. One written by the valedictorian, which was an astounding eight sentences long, the other by Miss Hoer, which spanned the front and back of the page in tiny, but cute writing, with hearts dotting the _I's._ He sat forward in his desk with his elbow propped up and his chin residing in between his thumb and forefinger.

" I, myself, have always been invisible. Sometimes I think that I don't even exist, at other times, I'm certain I don't. I feel a great empathy for the narrator and his struggle with invisibility. Although our situations are different, we live in the same world, one that cannot see us for who we really are. But that's okay in the end, I guess. Some people aren't meant to live in the limelight. Ever since I started taking this class, I've felt more visible than I ever have before. Mr. Son even put me in the front of the class! I have never ever been asked to sit in the front before and it makes me feel special that he thinks enough about me to stay after class and talk to me about assignments. He's the best (and _**cutest**_) teacher I ever had and I hope I have him next year for Honors Classical Literature! I just really reeeeally hope that he doesn't write bad letters to colleges for me like Dr. Bledsoe did!"

The essay went on, but Gohan stopped reading it. He ran a hand down his face before looking at the word "cutest" again. It was written in big bubble letters with little pink highlighter hearts floating around it. A certain pang of dread hit his core when he glanced up to see Ms. Hoer standing in front of his desk with her bright smiling face staring down at him.

"Do you like my essay?"

Gohan swallowed hard and glanced down at the paper. "You seem to be fond of using the first person. It's not a choice I would recommend for future essays." His voice felt stale in his throat, like he had swallowed sandpaper.

"Oh, I won't do it again, I promise . . ." Her voice faded out. "I couldn't think of how to express myself the way I wanted to without making it personal." She moved to the side of his desk, which caused Gohan to stand slowly.

When she reached out and touched his arm, rather stroked it lightly, it was the last straw.

"Your behavior is inappropriate, Ms. Hoer, please stop." His voice was colder than he meant it to be, but he was stressed to find a way to avoid this situation at all costs.

His response did nothing to detour her. "Are you sure that's what your want, really want?" She batted her big eyelashes at him and bit her painted lip.

"Please report to the dean's office, Ms. Hoer, I'll send your pass down after you." With that, Gohan gathered his work and stepped out of the office, more than ready to retire to the teacher's lounge and grab a much needed cup of coffee.

* * *

The morning had gone as Piccolo had planned. At sunrise, he was already to his meditations beneath the larger of the waterfalls near Mt. Paozu. He had taken to meditating in the rushing onslaught of water that rained down on his shoulders. The pressure was soothing. By noon, he had finished his mental training and continued to practice his physical form, weaving in the tall grasses of the valley adjacent to the waterfall. It was peaceful there and The Boy would hardly come to this spot. He well knew this was Piccolo's main training ground. It was getting to be the late afternoon before he was disturbed. He stopped, nearly stuttering in his step, to see who was out here so far into the nothingness. In his heart he knew it could only be that kid, but he hoped it was another more wanted visitor.

The Boy was clear on the other side of the grassland, simply staring back at him. He moved in closer, always keeping to the outskirts that bordered the woodlands, making sure he didn't get too close. When Piccolo moved abruptly, the kid jumped back and his eyes widened ever so slightly before he resumed his approach. Piccolo inwardly chuckled and shook his head. The Boy had gotten within half a dozen meters from him before he halted and crossed his arms over his chest. Piccolo, naturally, was not going to let this interfere with his training. The kid knew not to get in such close proximity for his own safety and was blatantly ignoring his better judgment.

Building up a small amount of ki, Piccolo took to the skies, battling an enemy that was thin air. His punches and kicks were lightning fast and just as strong and furious as they had been all those years ago when they were actually needed. He started with small ki blasts, aimed at particularly nothing this time, sometimes he pinpointed the mountains far away to keep his accuracy in tune, other times he carved entire sections out of the forest to test his concentrated power. The Boy simply looked on wherever he pointed to watch the glimmering energy beams assail the landscape.

When the boy turned a little too quickly, the motion caught Piccolo's eye and without really thinking about it, he released one of the minute ki blasts he had been reserving for the mountain. His breath caught in his throat between the fraction of the second it took to realize what he had done and to accept that there was little he could do to stop it. He could almost close his eyes to blink out what he was so certain would happen. The ki he used was not overly strong by any means, but it would pierce the flesh, just as it would the solid rock, with such a force that whatever was there would be no longer.

A cloud of dust erupted from the ground that was scorched into oblivion. Piccolo squinted to see through it and lowered to the ground. He didn't seem to be able to tolerate flying at this moment. When the haze cleared, he saw The Boy pressed firmly with his back to a tree and his hands clenching the bark like a lifeline. Piccolo let out that breath he didn't remember he was holding before assuming his normal stance. The corner of his lips pulled up.

There was a clear line burned out of the fabric of the kid's newly damp shirt. He hadn't evaded it entirely, but enough to make it out with only petty flesh wounds. Still, he could hear the quickening of The Boy's heart and smell the familiar scent of blood and sweat. It was nostalgic, to say the least. It had been years since he had another to train with. He would never risk instructing this kid, not after the incident . . .but maybe, just maybe . . .

"Who taught you to do that, kid?" His voice rumbled, more curious than anything.

The Boy looked to the side at nothing before meeting Piccolo's eyes. "I watch you." When he spoke, his voice cracked.

Piccolo arched a brow, amused. This kid could be picking up more than he wanted him to. He stepped further out into the clearing, silently beckoning The Boy to follow him. The kid did so, but much slower than Piccolo had hoped he would. When Piccolo turned around, he eyed the kid, his kid carefully. The sight before him was unimpressive to say the least. The Boy was lanky with deathly pale skin the color of faded tealeaves stretched over a frame that barely housed any musculature at all. The coal black hairs that spined up from his back to his scalp and around spindly ears were dull and irritable as the dark circles under his eyes- those eyes that brought him so many nights full of fearful and hated and revered glares. If it were not for that face which was so similar to his own, the kid would have no resemblance. This was probably a bad idea, but it was too late to back out now.

The feeling in his chest was numb. "Show me what you learned." His cape scraped against the stiff grass and he spoke, making his words seem all the more scratchy and hoarse.

He could see it, that uneven, awkward shift of what little weight The Boy had from one side to the other. The kid wasn't going to do it. He had not the nerve to even try. Somehow he knew nothing good was to come of this.

With a scoff, he removed his cape and turban, casting both articles to the ground with force. The Boy took a step back, looking as though he was about to dart into the undergrowth.

"Stay." The roughness of his own voice surprised Piccolo, if only for a moment. This kid was affecting him.

Freed of his weighted armor, he slipped into a casual fighting stance, one he assumed in order to block attacks. The Boy was terrified. Clearly terrified. The kid was shaking, his eyes wider and bluer than at any other time that Piccolo could remember. He could even hear the racing of the whelp's heart and the tension of the tendons in his hands as he wrung them together.

"Well?" This waiting was growing wearisome.

Perhaps all the kid needed was some motivation. After all, it worked for Gohan.

If this kid was quick enough to dodge a flicker of ki, then certainly he could at least partially block a simple kick attack. Right? Yes, certainly. He lowered his energy to virtually nothing by his standards. Closing the distance between them in an unnaturally slow pace, he felt, he kept his fighting stance and readied his first and only attack. The Boy seemed to put up his arms in some form of defense. Honestly, it was the poorest form Piccolo had ever seen. He made a note not to expect much, but this display was sad. It almost looked like The Boy had merely flinched.

No, the kid was ready. He was creating a guise of helplessness to try and throw him off. This was going to work, all he wanted the kid to do was to be able to block one slow attack. Hell, he'd even allow himself to hit slow enough for the runt to be able to see it happening. It was not as though the kid had to prove himself much- this one tiny effort was all he asked for, today.

And then it happened. He saw the boy swallow hard and scrunch his eyes closed only a moment before. He saw the kid retract his arms in close to his chest and hunch his back, waiting for the impact. It wasn't supposed to be like this. When The Boy turned, Piccolo attempted to stop the attack and lowered his aim, since the original target, the kid's awaiting arms, was not longer waiting, but the momentum he had built wouldn't allow him to stop completely and the blow connected, knocking the kid back with a yelp and laying him out flat on his stomach.

He hesitated, remaining in his fighting stance before dropping his guard and staring at the ground where his opponent laid. The Boy was gasping for air with a face full of dirt. He knew he hadn't kicked the kid _that _hard. Had he? Nevermind, it was a little hit to the gut, nothing that was seriously going to injure him. It was just shock, that was it. The Boy rolled onto his side, curled in the fetal position, holding his stomach just above the groin.

Oh, Kami, did he miss?

By the way the color had rushed out of The Boy's face, it seems like he had, since the kid cowered so suddenly. What a lousy way to start and end his potentially fun exercise.

"Are you okay?" It was the only question that Piccolo felt proper asking. Normally he would have commanded that the kid raise to his feet this instant and stop being so weak, but that hardly felt necessary now.

A groan came in reply as The Boy shifted in attempt to draw himself to his feet, which he did in a pained motion that made his knees look like they were about to buckle under him. A violet blush spread across Piccolo's cheeks. He was more embarrassed than he cared to admit.

Through all of this, The Boy kept his eyes constantly on Piccolo, only this time they held anger.

"Go clean up" The words were spat out quickly as Piccolo turned to collect his things. He knew this sort of thing wouldn't end well, it never did.

He turned to watch The Boy slowly walk off with his back hunched and arms cradling the lowest reaches of his stomach- and he frowned.

* * *

The night grew long with tedious training. Piccolo was originally planning to end early today and seek out a new spot in the vast deserts far from here to train for the spring. It was not that he disliked the new growth and foliage, quite the opposite, he merely longed for a change of scenery, to get way from minor irritations.

But that was hardly fair.

He had not seen The Boy all day long, not since that mishap. He was thankful, in a way. At least they would avoid talking about it. That was about the last thing he really wanted to do. Somehow he knew that that kid would get back to him about it and probably would not truly leave him be until that time. With a shake of his head, Piccolo ignited a small fire in his grotto, just behind the waterfall of his choice today. He had carved out the rock himself, which made for a rather comfortable and polished residence when he chose to use it. His meditations did not come easily this evening. A nagging voice in his head told him to check up on that blasted kid, wherever he roamed. From what he could sense, the object of his perturbation was heading to him. It was only a few moments before he could hear the scuffing of the kid's taloned feet against the soft earth and eventually the rock face. Piccolo waited in the lotus position for the badgering to begin.

As The Boy pulled himself over the mouth of the cave, Piccolo cracked open an eye, glancing at him before feigning disinterest. The kid sat only a few feet into the shelter with his knees drawn in to his chest and his arms resting over his stomach. He rested his head against the wall and looked bitterly over to his mentor.

They remained in that position for the better part of an hour. The Boy, ever watchful, sat there glaring at Piccolo, and the latter was doing his best trying to ignore his presence in hopes that the junior would go his own way.

"I don't resent you." Piccolo finally spoke up, speaking very steadily without even bothering to open his eyes.

The Boy shifted but didn't reply, the dull ache in his stomach obviously bothering him still.

A slight _'Hnn'_ sound escaped from Piccolo's throat as he listened.

"Are you . . .Injured?"

The Boy's eyes narrowed into slits at him.

Silence overtook them.

For the longest time they wouldn't so much as meet one another's eyes, much less speak. The sun was almost at the horizon before any progress was made. The Boy reached into his shirt and pulled out an object. Piccolo, jarred from his thoughts by the action, looked over. The kid's hands fully encompassed the object, but Piccolo could see a slight orange tint reflecting onto the pale skin. He arched a brow in question, but did not speak.

"Why won't you train me?" The Boy's voice cracked partially in the middle of his sentence.

Piccolo shook his head and rolled his shoulders under the smooth fabric of his gi and cape. "You wouldn't understand."

With that, Piccolo was certain the conversation was over. They had spoken time and again on this subject, and it never got far beyond a refusal on Piccolo's part. The Boy occupied himself by staring that thousand-meter stare into the slowly burning fire that crackled and popped softly between them. Piccolo nodded and closed his eyes once more, inhaling a long, slow breath as he did. The kid smelled like blood and rain, but not sweat. It didn't rain today. Such a fragile, frail bodied creature . . .So much more delicate than he was use to.

The Boy made a guttural sound, which, for the umpteenth time, distracted Piccolo from his leisure.

"It's because I can't be like him, isn't it?" The voice was weak, but serene.

Piccolo only scoffed in reply to hide the half-truth.

The Boy continued, "I . . .I will never be like him. I will never meet your expectations, so you don't even try."

"Enough." Piccolo's voice echoed through the cave, silencing the young offender abruptly. Without further hesitation, Piccolo stood to his feet, ready to depart and be rid of this nonsense.

"Then what is it?" The Boy remained seated, but his voice rose slightly above its normal tone.

"Because of what you might do." He had long since turned his back to the kid.

For once, the kid was silent, as though his words were caught on his tongue.

"You know what I'm talking about, kid." The edge on Piccolo's words was sharper than it had been in a long time.

"That was a long time ago, Piccolo." The Boy shook his head and looked to the ground, unable to meet the older man's gaze.

"I found the remains a few days ago."

"Those were just some animals I caught. I do eat, you know." The reply came far too quickly to be completely honest.

"Not all of them were eaten."

No reply came.

"I've seen what you do kid, I'm not going to risk something happening again."

"It was an accident." The kid almost choked on his words.

Piccolo could feel his ki level rising as the blood in his stomach boiled- he had to leave soon before something he would regret happened. "You eviscerated her, that was no accident."

Without further ado, Piccolo took off into the night, leaving the past transgressions behind before they infuriated him further.

The Boy sat there, empty, and looked at the spot where Piccolo had vanished into before resting his head in his knees and folding his arms over it, hiding his face.

* * *

Gohan had gone straight home after school that day. The little 'happening' with Miss Hoer had been quite enough to deal with for the time being. Things hadn't been much better when he arrived home. Videl was in one of her moods again and she would not so much as let him embrace her when he got home from work. She had been frigid for longer than he cared to remember.

Now that the sun was setting, illuminating the sky with brilliant hues of pink and orange, Gohan took this opportunity to walk Lucifer. He had been neglecting to do so for some time, partly because he disliked the little rat, partly because he was so busy with other concerns to spend much time pondering him. The bicycle path that Gohan had cleared through the woods for his wife some time ago was still usable, but had recently been converted into more of a dog trail than anything else. It was Lucifer's favorite. The scrawny mutt pulled on his leash as Gohan followed behind him, much too slowly for the dog's liking. At every large tree of peculiar rock, the terrier mongrel would stop, sniff curiously, and occasionally raise his leg to declare himself king of that territory.

Halfway through the path, Lucifer suddenly stopped, his tail sticking out straight and his nose twitching at the foliage deeper within the forest. He barked at something then appeared to wait in reply. Gohan eyed the dog suspiciously and tugged on his leash. Lucifer whimpered and looked to his master before reverting his gaze to the trees. It struck him as odd. There had been no larger predators in these parts for a while, except . . .

"What are you doing so far out here?" Gohan waited for an answer, but not so much as the rustling of leaves came.

Things were too quiet to be natural.

He knew it wasn't Piccolo; the namek was far away from here by the feel of things.

"Well, if you don't want to talk, that's fine too." He switched his attention to the dog that was hiding behind his calves. "C'mon, Fido." He pulled roughly on the leash, nearly yanking the dog off his feet as he did. "Your favorite tree is just around the bend."

It took Gohan till the time he arrived on the very outskirts of his maintained back yard for Lucifer to return to a normal state, or as normal as a neurotic little yapping dog can be. When he unhooked the leash, Lucifer bounded off towards his cage without looking back, which caused Gohan's brow to furl.

A dull thud came from behind him. Partially turning to see what it was, a glint of orange caught in the corner of his eye, right underneath a large oak tree. Curiosity getting the best of him, Gohan took a few jogging steps towards the object and picked it up. His eyes grew large as he realized what it was. The seven-starred dragon ball stared him in the face.

Dinner, as it usually did, passed with mild conversation about nothing of consequence. Videl didn't ask about Piccolo or the kid tonight, probably because he didn't go visit them today and definitely made sure he said nothing about finding the dragon ball. Most of the night he spent in his study, not doing work in particular, just sitting. It was relaxing to have some time in his private world. The air in the room was stuffy from his brooding but the night was crystal clear. Gripping the orange spear protectively in his hand, he tossed it once and caught it forcefully with the same hand. Videl and the pooch were fast asleep, it wouldn't hurt to step out for a few minutes and enjoy himself.

The cool air rushed to his face and neck, which were red from the anxieties of the day. He took off his shirt to allow the refreshment to seize the rest of his body. For all the niceties he afforded, air conditioning was not one of them. He'd have to fix that sometime.

He ran a hand over his chest, scratching a phantom itch lightly. Largely, he suspected that his lack of body hair was due to his father's genes and he was certain that his maintained muscle tone, which had diminished only slightly after years without serious training, was also accredited to him. Sadly, this did nothing for him anymore, other than save what pride he still took in his body. No one else seemed to enjoy it anymore.

The trees rusted to the side of him. Gohan eyed them suspiciously before glancing down at the hand that held the dragon ball. A smile spread across his face as he padded barefoot over the cluster of trees. He knew that there was nothing that could harm him here, so there was no need to be overly cautious, yet still he kept his guard raised. It just seemed needed.

"You dropped this." With a light toss, Gohan sent the orb up into the trees where he detected The Boy hiding. There was a slight pause between the time the dragon ball fought through the branches till the time that it came falling back down to the ground and rolled back to Gohan's feet.

With a sigh, Gohan picked the sphere up again and dusted it off on his pants.

"Come with me, its getting chilly out here." He made sure his voice was as genial as possible.

The leaves rusted more, but Gohan couldn't quite see the figure hiding behind them.

"Come on, we can sit out here and talk for a little bit." Maybe asking the kid to set foot inside his house was a bit much, perhaps even for him.

When Gohan turned his back, not wishing to press the issue any farther, he heard the kid touch down on the ground somewhat roughly. Fighting his better instincts, he did not turn around to face the kid, but continued walking until he got onto the top stair of his porch. By the time he did turn to see his company, The Boy was within thirty feet of him, with his arms tightly crossed over his stomach and his eyes searching every slight movement in the night.

"There's nothing to worry about here, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk is all." Gohan sat down on the steps and rested his elbows on his knees, forcing a smile. It was still a shock to see the kid now, how he had grown.

Getting old didn't bode well for him.

It took a few minutes for The Boy to get within several arms lengths of Gohan, but he never sat down. Gohan tried his best to get the kid to talk with some ceremonial 'how are yous'' and whatnot, but the kid never so much as made a sound of annoyance toward him. Raising the hand that held the seven star dragon ball, Gohan looked directly in The Boy's eyes. They were almost intensely blue . . . it was odd.

"Where did you find this?" Gohan knew for a fact that the kid didn't have the radar to detect these things, and probably wouldn't know how to operate one if he did.

The kid shrugged and looked over his shoulder to the woods.

"Has Piccolo told you about the dragon balls yet?" Gohan quirked his brow, gauging the look on The Boy's face- he seemed lost. "I'll take that as a no. They're very special crystals, this is the last one of the set." He wasn't sure how much he should tell the kid, lest he be deemed as insane in the teen's eyes with his talk of dragons and magic wishes.

But The Boy seemed to accept this answer and nodded.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

The Boy let out an amused smirk at the statement.

"Ah, well, you never were big on talking." Gohan pondered the dragon ball for a moment before tossing it over to the kid, who caught it with a hand. "What's your name, anyway? I've never heard Pic call you by your proper one."

He could tell he said something wrong before the words fully escaped his mouth. The kid's shoulders sagged and he bowed his head, looking contently at he ethereal orb that seemed to illuminate his face in the darkness. He really wasn't a bad looking kid. The Boy flexed his hands, a nervous tic, before looking up at Gohan. His eyes were wide, completely opened for once instead of pressed into a menacing scowl. Gohan had never noticed that they were almond shaped before.

"Seven." The Boy said calmly.

Gohan tilted his head to the side, confused.

"Seven?"

"Seven." The Boy reassured and leaned his head to the side, exposing the right side of his neck. He brushed the rough hair that followed his spine away to show a small " 7 " tattooed on his neck about halfway up.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Seven." Gohan stood and stretched out, which caused Seven to take a step back. "Want a glass of water, I'm parched myself."

Now, he knew for one that if he turned away for even a moment, The Boy- Seven, would likely disappear into the night and would hide in the deepest, darkest corner of the forest he could find. It was just his way, or so Gohan thought. But Seven nodded then averted his gaze to the ground. Gohan inwardly sighed for the second time tonight and stepped towards his door. His tapered fingers barely had the time to touch the doorknob before he turned around to make sure that kid was still there.

Sure enough, Seven was gone.

But the seven star dragon ball was sitting on the top step of the porch.


	7. Turning Point

"Hand me down people and hand me down clothes, passed from one to another when the wear starts to show. They give to feel good, then go on their way. They don't know how it feels to be given away." –Opening line from the play Mother Hicks

* * *

It was not the stillness of his bed that alerted him that night, nor was it the subtle smell of lavender and vanilla that kept him keenly alerted to the other presence in his bed. That night had not been one for the records, for it was like every other night that had come and gone in unremarkable disappointment. Videl slept with her back to him. Her silken, milky white night gown matched her porcelain skin and made those freshly washed raven locks that flowed over her shoulders all the more beautiful. But that beauty was no longer his, it seemed, and it hadn't been for months. The question was one that always boggled him. Had he not been a good, faithful husband? Had he not provided tirelessly for his family? Had he not shown every measure of devotion and loyalty to her, even when those acts were refused vehemently? There was nothing to be said, though. He lay awake in their bed, eyes cast upon her sleeping figure that was curled away from him as though his mere presence provoked her. The childish notions that true love was like that in books had fled from him ages ago. True love wasn't necessarily romantic, but a test to see who could stay in it long enough. This was a battle that Gohan was afraid he was loosing. At least the screaming matches had long since ceased.

He was not welcome here tonight. Not even his sheets provided any comfort in this icy home with its frosted April windows. It was still cold, but inside and out. He slid out of bed without stealth and care. His back popped and groaned as he stretched, his toes curling on the chill of the hardwood floors. His steps were languid and drearily slow as he made his way down the stairs with an audible thump with every step he took. All seemed to be well as he peered through the clouded windows that guided the way to his only sanctuary. Unlike most of his house, which was hardly his to begin with, his study was as he pleased. It was a sort of dream room he could escape to when reality burdened him too much. On the far walls, from ceiling to floor, were bookshelves, like that of some ancient library. Sure, they were impractical and expensive to install, but they were his. His desk, though somewhat flimsy in nature, was ridden with pictures of Pan and Videl, back when things were a little happier, back when she was home. And on the far corner of his desk, nearly hidden by the dozens of family photos, was a picture of Piccolo taken long, long ago. The man was standing with his back against the tree, face staring out into oblivion, into the sunset. He didn't know the picture had been taken, and that was probably a good thing. Behind the picture was the seven star dragon ball. How silly, he must have placed it there last night. He certainly didn't remember doing such, but it was late. Grasping the orange orb in his hands, Gohan stared into his own reflection, face oddly aglow with the pale orange light. It reminded him of the shyness of The Boy's face last night. How unnaturally soft and familiar the lines of his face looked. But it was best not to worry about those sorts of things now, wasn't it?

* * *

He hadn't been back to see the kid in days, something he was infinitely thankful for. It seemed as the more time passed by, the less Piccolo's heart was moved by the whelp. Bulma had said that he would eventually warm up to the child, but it had been a decade since that day, and all that had changed was not for the better. Did he regret it? At times, yes, other times no. That boy could at least have made a passable sparing partner; perhaps not the best suited for actual combat, but as a meat shield for new techniques and trials. What a shame the kid had too many . . .tendencies which Piccolo had long since had to deal with in himself. Ridding that boy of them proved to be a task that not even **he** was up to. Oh, he had tried countless times; trying to convince the little nuisance to meditate to cleanse his mind, to practicing his exercises in absolute solitude, even to simply relax in silence, but none of them worked. Half the time his influence was spat back in his face. That boy refused to sit still, always fidgeting about, complaining that there must be another way and that it was not fair nor good nor right to ignore those impulses he had.

What a young fool.

But in time he would learn. Either that or he would have to die.

I knew where the kid kept his main site. I have known for a long time, ever since he was little. That was part of the reason why I had to remove him from the Son house. I couldn't stand the thought that anything should happen. I know what goes on in that head of his- the very same thing that lurks in the back of mine, even now. If I allowed it to come back, that would be the end of me. But it won't. It never will.

The desert air that normally calms me no longer remedies my plight. He keeps his work where the forest gives way to the desert. Even from here the stench bothers me. I make notice to stay away from him when he's gone from the waterfall for days at a time. Of course I know where he is, I can track him easily enough, but I rarely follow. Sometimes I just don't want to know.

But today is different. There's something wrong about the way the kid vanished this morning. I could tell he went toward the Son house last night, but he ran off all too quickly. He did nothing. It has been my fortune to have a timid whelp dumped on me instead of one like myself.

Even my meditating was interrupted by the stench of flesh rotting in the burning sand. Perhaps it's imagined, I meditate at the far end of this wasteland, a place where the kid can't even survive long enough on foot to find me. He'll be at his place shortly.

I intend to be there before he arrives.

My flight was a short one, even shorter than I had expected. The place where I had previously thought the kid still visited had not been touched in months, maybe more. There was a new one about a kilometer away. From the smell of things, this one was fresh. It was like clockwork with this boy. He poked his head out of the thin brush, keenly eyeing his way about the landscape. Had he any wits about him, he would know of my presence by now. He repeated the process several times over, ducking in and out of hiding before coming to the conclusion that it was safe. He must be looking for me; we're the only ones that walk along these lands anymore.

I had been right all along- this time was different. The package I was looking for was no longer present, but its telltale signs were. This kid never hunted with his shirt on because I always materialized white cloth for his tops, so I would know what he had done. He was sloppy, always had been. But he was getting neater. That was the first thing I noticed. His shallow chest bore only a few superficial scratches and on his right shoulder, bite marks tore the flesh. He had been bleeding out for some time, and still was as far as I could see. He always had that problem.

He never thought to look up when he was this distracted. His breaths were ragged, as though he were still coming down from an adrenaline high. He never walked when he was like this; he always took leaping bounds, sometimes even sprinted. He took off, making a beeline towards his destination. There was a patch of thistles and dead brush that he delicately pushed to the side before raising a small, thatched gate that lead to a hole he had excavated himself.

The smell was intolerable, even at my range.

This had to stop.

I touched down behind him. He spooked far too easily; the kid nearly toppled down into the hole himself. He looked like an animal. When it comes down to it, I suppose that's all he really is. The faux mane that stems from midway up his back and traces his spine was caked down with dirt and blood in matted clumps. The closer I got to him, the more it looked like he had tried to at least rinse himself off earlier, the dirty lines where water had ran were still present on his skin. Whatever he did hardly agreed with him. He simply stared up at me with those angry eyes of his as though it was going to accomplish something- and as he did, his hands clenched and unclenched.

He had a secret he was hiding.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I hate it when he looks into my eyes. I know that look all too well and it is not one I care to see again. Something had to- "What do you think you're doing?" The words fully escaped me before I could finish my thoughts. The Boy flinched at my tone; it was one I specially reserved for him. It made him wilt every time.

His mouth gaped open unattractively, like a fish gasping for water. He clenched his fists so tightly, I could hear the joins pop. His eyes traveled back to the hole where he kept them and the stench that wafted from therein. He kept them there so I would leave him alone.

"Nothing that concerns you." He flinched at the sound of his cracking voice while I remained poised.

"You concern me" You always concern me.

He sighed deeply like he knew what was coming next. With a small flicker of ki, I set whatever was in that godforsaken hole aflame. The Boy just shook his head.

"Where's the rest?" I didn't have time for this foolishness now

Wordlessly, the kid stepped past me, walking in the direction that he had come from. There was a small clearing about a quarter of a mile away that he took me to. I knew this spot. I had visited it several times after long days of training. A small pool of water wasn't far from here. The Boy stopped for a moment and turned back to look at me. I can't forget the look in his eyes. One of those stupid looks he gives me when he knows that he's defeated. His eyes open up all the way, something they rarely do, and then they narrow ever so slightly while his lips pressed into a thin strip across his face. He continued on his path agitatedly. He was leading me to the water.

When I arrived there only a few steps behind him, I saw several things that I was not counting on and none of which made my day any better. The Boy stayed behind me as I ventured toward his prize. He had caught one of the large animals humans keep around their homes. Some sort of dog, I believe. It was significantly larger than the wolves and foxes that hid among the trees here. Its head rested a meter away from the body, the jaw snapped violently in several places. The rest of the animal had been flayed along its medial sections, both halves of the body split from the neck, the sternum cracked completely apart, leaving the ribs prodding at the sky like thin fingers. The organs and meat had been stripped from the carcass and were lying unceremoniously in a pile to the side, except the liver, which was resting on a fresh pile of leaves. I looked to the limbs, all were broken through the skin at odd angles- it was almost as though the kid enjoyed doing this. Deep down, I knew he did. This was not the first one of these I have stumbled across, nor would it be the last.

I would never tell him this, but the animals don't bother me at all. Most of the time it's a relief that this is the worst thing he delves into, at least to my knowledge. My one concern is that he'll move on to bigger things but my worries are not necessarily for their safety.

The second thing that worried me was The Boy's face. He's calm; he's never this calm when I am around him, much less while I'm judging his dirty work. I would try reading his mind, but his thoughts are never clear enough to understand. Only fragments of emotions and words flow in that otherwise hollow skull. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. Our eyes met for a moment before he looked away. I sniffed. He will have to learn one way or another.

"It's just the way I am." The kid answered my unspoken question curtly while still avoiding my gaze. All the while his hand were wringing; I could still see splatters of blood stained skin on his arms.

I moved closer to him, my feet leaving prints on the unnaturally wet gown. I suspected I'd have to make another pair of shoes, for I'd never get the smell of rot and blood out of them. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I felt the muscles clench and his bones protrude from his skin more than they normally would. I turned him, against his will, to see his side and back. There were more shallow scratches than I thought and he had not bothered to wipe away all the grime, leaving him as a veritable patchwork of gore. How many other things has he been into today? My hand shifted to his face, turning it from side to side. He let me do it today without so much as a scoff. There were minor abrasions that, to my surprise, were still bleeding slowly. He always bled out more than normal.

"I won't hurt anyone anymore, just these." He speaks before I can remove my hand, I can feel the muscles of his jaw tighten and in response my grip does as well.

The Boy swallows hard, I can feel anxiety radiating off of him. "I've heart that before." My grip keeps tightening, I'm not sure why.

He finally reached up and grabbed my wrist with both his hands, trying to ease the pressure on his jaw. "You understand me." He was almost pleading, "Why can't you-" I let him go suddenly before cutting him off

"I made the right choice, it's time you do the same." I was about to turn and leave when he spoke again.

"I can't meditate like you" he paused almost bitterly "I will never be like you." He extended his arm, pointing at the animal he had massacred. "This is how I subdue . . .this." His arm dropped to his side and a look of absolute defeat swept across his features like a flame to dry brush.

My face hardened at his words. "I've shown you other ways of coping. You refused all of them."

He did not respond, not even so much as a flinch.

"Where are the others?" I finally asked, I knew there were more, many more, and I was going to dispose of every last one.

He wouldn't even look up.

"Kid." I asked, squaring my shoulders to face him.

Nothing.

"Boy."

The wind played with the tail of my cape.

"Seven." I haven't used that name in ages, it reminded me too much of all the things I had come to regret.

He looked at me, his eyes held some foreign emotion I have not seen in years. "They're with her." His voice was so soft.

"You-" I began through clenched teeth but he shook his head at me before continuing.

"The family moved out, the place is empty now. Just her and the garden."

* * *

The day at school had been extraordinarily mundane. When Gohan finally reached his front door, a dark house that smelled faintly of those lilac candles Videl liked so much greeted him. There was a note pinned under a crystal vase that resided on the table just beyond the front door. Apparently Videl had gone with Bulma and Chichi for some kind of 'girls night out', which probably involved spending a great deal of his paycheck this month on various frivolities. Crumpling the note up and tossing it into the wastebasket, he kicked off his shoes and headed towards the kitchen. As he expected, there was nothing. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem at all, for he would have picked something up on the way home, but this was a completely unexpected happening. Sure enough, he could have ordered some pizzas, but there was no delivery to these parts and he really didn't feel like flying all the way back into town, much less driving. Besides, even if he did go back into town, eating there was always awkward due to the sheer amount that he could consume with great tenacity.

Sigh.

Eventually, Gohan shifted on his unwilling feet, commanding them to drag the rest of his tired body into the living room so he could flop on the couch while he decided how badly he wanted food. He had been reclining there with his arms folded behind his head for the longest time; must have drifted to sleep, because the run was almost setting. That little dog of his, of course, chose to bark incessantly and disturb his rest. The little terrier must have been as hungry as he was. Somewhat hesitantly, he sat up, scratching his stomach absently as he did. The dog had stopped barking with a loud yelp and the rattling of the fence that held him. The noise was replaced by padded footsteps that were going around the side of his house. There was a moment of silence before Gohan heard the first few steps of his front porch creak and groan under pressure.

Rising to his feet, Gohan slowly walked to the door. He had a good idea of who he would find there and opened the door anyway. He had nothing to worry about except his dog, which had not made a sound for a few moments. When he opened the door, he saw Seven's bare back as he was walking away from the house, towards the wooded area. There was a fairly large package wrapped messily in a black cloth. Without thought, Gohan picked it up. It was damp to the touch and had left a red stain on the wood as well as his hands. He undid the knot hastily, curiosity overtaking his better judgment. Inside there were fillets and flanks of meat cut in a rather primitive manner- not like what one would pick up at the store. Well, this was unexpected.

"Hey, Seven!" Gohan clutched the package in one hand while waving the other one near frantically, as though the kid would not be able to see him.

The kid whipped around, blatantly startled by the outburst. He continued backing away, albeit at a snail's pace, after he was called. Gohan's natural smile faded from his lips and he stopped waving when he saw the stains on the kid's chest. Seven's raw anatomy was shocking overall with bones protruding and sinking in at exaggerated angles. His clavicles stuck out far while his chest was compacted and his stomach was concave with barely noticeable traces of muscle while his hips, which were entirely too high, jutted out so far and so sharply that Gohan was willing to bet that they could cut into flesh like knives.

No, this would not do at all. Gohan couldn't tell at this distance whether Seven was covered in dirt or blood and honestly, at this time it didn't matter between the two. There was a heavy bruise on either side of the kid's face and scrapes across his forehead. The whole mess looked like a damn concussion.

"Come here!" There was just no way Gohan was going to let the kid stumble and pass out somewhere in the woods, not while Piccolo was as far away as he felt. Hell, the kid looked about as steady on his feet as a newborn foal.

But Seven did not come. He listed a little to the right and cocked his head to the side, still retreating. Gohan's eyes narrowed in confusion before something dawned on him. The kid never came when he was being watched.

"Alright then" Gohan answered his own call. "The door's open if you change your mind." He stepped back into his house, leaving the door wide open as he did. He had barely been able to make it back to the kitchen when he heard his porch creak. A weak smile spread across his face as he placed the package in the sink, he'd prepare the food later.

The Boy was standing just outside the doorway, looking in cautiously.

"You know I don't bite?" Gohan joked, not ready to turn around just yet. If he did, that kid would never set foot inside the house.

He could hear the welcome mat in the front door squish under Seven's weight. A diminutive, guttural sound broke the air.

It was then that Gohan turned around to face the kid. Seven was standing like a deer in the headlights with his arms folded against his stomach and back hunched uncomfortably. His ears were folded back, pressed against his head and almost completely hidden by that mop he called hair. Gohan couldn't recall Piccolo's ears doing that, ever.

"Follow me" Gohan gestured to the boy as he strolled toward the guest bathroom that was several rooms away.

Gohan had only taken a few steps before he realized that there was no one following him. What was the problem? His back was turned, something that he was completely uncomfortable doing, but the kid was about as active as a coat rack. When he turned back to look at the kid, he found Seven staring at the floor in front of his feet. It was glistening with polish. That was something Gohan hadn't counted on. The kid had feet like a raptor that would, without a doubt, mar the wood so deeply that it may have to be sanded down if he were to step on he floorboards. This made Gohan pause. There was the stairwell nearly adjacent to the front door that lead to the concrete basement and doubled back up on the far wall to an exit that came out at his study, which had a bathroom. That was really the only way around scuffing the floor, which Videl would never ever let him hear the end of it for. With a solitary nod, Gohan redirected himself down the stairs. The kid followed behind him when he had reached the bottom and unlocked the door. It had been years since Gohan had personally been down there.

The door groaned on his hinges like a man who had been awoken from a deep slumber. The air inside was cold and made Gohan feel sick. It felt like rot and illness down here. Feeling the air for the drawstring that turned on the lights, Gohan fumbled a moment before catching it and pulling. A dim yellow glow filled the cavern. There might as well have been no light for how effective this one was. He followed the right wall until he came to the tool bench and then turned right again, so that he would be making a right angle and subsequently a beeline for the stairs and door. He could feel the kid's breath on the back of his neck. The Boy had never gotten so close to him, but in the dark, Gohan guessed it was different. Unsettling, but different.

His hands clasped the doorknob tightly and faltered before opening the door. He was leading this kid into his most personal area. Not even Videl really came in here and this boy was about to. It made Gohan's stomach twinge, even though there was nothing to hide. Some paperwork, old, dusty volumes, a mediocre desk and a set of furniture, and a picture window that was in need of cleaning- but all of it was private, down to the last dust bunny. When he opened the door, the world did not collapse on him, nor did the cosmos pelt him with stardust, instead the door swung open with a horrid shriek and a waft of central air hit him in the face. Things were going to be ok. The floor of his study was carpeted with what felt like red velvet, but it was simply a very plush material that was much cheaper. When Gohan stepped into the light of his study, Seven lagged behind him again, taking slow, calculated steps instead of rushing forward. Creeper.

Gohan began reflecting on how rash his decision was, but had not yet come to regretting it- yet. The restroom where the kid could wash up adjoined his study. It was a tiny room with a stark white tile floor that held little more than a sink, toilet, and a small medicine cabinet above the sink. Opening the door and switching on the lights, Gohan entered the room in one swift motion and waited for Seven to step in behind him. The kid seemed less than eager to be stuck in the cramped space, but for sake of cooperation did anyway. The glaring whiteness of the room illuminated every obvious scrape and imperfection of the kid's skin, which made Gohan wince. The Boy looked as though he had been involved in some epic battle instead of submitting to his own clumsiness. He was certain that it was only clumsiness. Gohan moved further in the room to grab a washcloth from the towel rack. He wasn't expecting the kid to take a step forward and follow him, which is exactly what happened. When Gohan stepped back to turn around, he stepped into Seven's chest, startling himself and causing the kid to flinch and consequently firmly plant his back into the wall with a loud thud.

"Kami, don't do that, kid." Gohan released the breath of air he had taken slowly before chuckling at the wide-eyed look on The Boy's face.

Without placing his back towards the kid, Gohan turned on the water and wet the cloth, wringing it out slightly with a firm grip.

This wasn't going to be so bad. This wasn't going to be so bad. This wasn't going to be so bad.

It was bad.

I could literally hear the air being sucked into the kid's lungs as I reached forward with the cloth to wipe one of the nastier cuts on his forehead. The look on the kid's face- it was sheer terror as he crawled down the wall, shying away from the touch. And he was trembling. What was wrong? I looked at the towel in my hand then back to his face.

"What are you afraid of, kid?" It was so much more comfortable to call him that name now. He edged closer to the ground.

"Everything." His voice was a small whisper, barely loud enough for me to hear.

"Well you don't have to be afraid of me."

And when he arched his shoulders I could see how fragile this was.

I sat down opposite of him, on the toilet lid nonetheless, and for the longest time we just stared at each other. I firmly believe that this is one of the most awkward moments of my life. I'm here sitting on the toilet with a damp towel in my hands while my best friend's son is sprawled across my bathroom wall, covered in scrapes and bruises no less, and is staring at me like I'm his assailant.

"Just let me-" I found myself unable to finish the sentence.

The way he was looking at me was just horrible. I didn't want to be looked at like that anymore.

"Just clean your wounds off, there are some bandages and antibiotic in the cabinet if you need them." I gently threw the towel into his chest and it landed with a wet smack.

I didn't stick around to see his reaction. In fact I barely managed to throw a civil "I'll be outside cooking" over my shoulder before leaving him.

I wasn't even concerned about him having a concussion anymore.

It just so happened that I did exactly what I said I was going to. I padded from my study to the kitchen, all the rooms were linked in a giant circle so it's easy to get from place to place, and washed the meat off, seasoned it lightly, and tossed it in a pan with some tongs to go outside for grilling. I had wanted grilled something or other for a while now.

* * *

The food was done by the time I saw the kid's face again and I was outside eating alfresco on the back porch. The meat had a strange taste to it. Not particularly bad, but different, like a lot of things right now. I tried not to think about it.

When I lifted my eyes to see Seven, not something I was keen on doing at the moment, I saw him with his hair plastered to his neck and face and still wet, although not dripping. His hair looked more like actual hair when it was damp. It almost looked soft. My gaze drifted back to the steak I was eating. I had finished off three others before and was in a better mood for it. Truth be told, I didn't want to look back at him, not at all. I never liked emaciated figures, they reminded me too much of how life withers away as the years pass; and there was nothing I could do about it.

I motioned to the ground next to me and, for once, he actually complied and crouched down beside me. His skin smelled uncannily like fresh cut grass and rain when it was wet. I guess he didn't care much for the Ivory soap I had. I caught myself glancing over at him, checking for any serious injuries; I knew he was a peach after all, and teeny little scratches and bites are magnified tenfold on him, but I could never be too careful. Even the bruises along his arms and neck seemed to be diminished. I must have been staring at him too intently or for too long because he caught me. His brow was knit and his eyes narrowed, but he wasn't angry, there was nothing of the sort scribed on his face. If anything, he looked curious. I would have preferred angry because I didn't know how to feel about this new look.

All this and he hasn't hardly spoken a word to me yet.

"Where did you hunt this at? I haven't seen wild boar in this area in a number of years." It was the only thing I could think of to distract myself.

His head drew back in shock as though I had said something wrong and nodded towards the east. I took his menial reply for what it was and finished eating, wiping my hands on the sides of my pants when I was through.

"Thanks" It seemed to be due.

Seven made a mild 'Feh' in response.

"You remind me of him." I spoke before I really weighed my words properly.

There was a pause for a moment; I assume the kid was contemplating my words.

"I can' understand how."

"Don't suppose most would."

"Then that's why you tolerate me." The reply was far more tart than I anticipated.

I made a slight sound of acceptance and looked toward the sky. The moon wasn't visible and the sun had long since retired. It was an off sort of night. This sort of thing was too confusing. When the kid abruptly stood, he jolted me from my thoughts. He was looking down the road. It was only a matter of seconds before the headlights of the capsule car cleared the peak. Seven shifted his weight like he was going to run off again.

I'm not sure why, but at that moment I didn't want him to go. When I grabbed his wrist, he tried to jerk away from me, but couldn't break my grasp. I wasn't holding on hard, just enough to keep him there. I told him to stay and he glowered at me like I was crazy. I'm an literature teacher for Kami's sake, and I couldn't even think of the proper words to convince this kid who was made of nothing but worry and bone and flushed cheeks. Things will never be this simple again.

And I knew Videl had been wanting to see him, now was her chance and perhaps her only one.

Somewhere not too far away, I'm sure the person I was looking for was watching.

* * *


	8. Dreary

Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

"Thy fate is the common fate of all,  
into each life some rain must fall,  
some days must be dark and dreary."

--Lines 13-15 of _The Rainy Day_ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

* * *

The headlights of the capsule car illuminated a goodly portion of the yard and the first few porch steps before it seemingly faded at the door. The car whirred as the lights powered down and the engine purred to a languid stop. Chatting women could be heard from within, not at all an uncommon occurrence, as women so often liked to give their long, drawn out goodbyes to one another. Bulma's voice was by far the most distinct. It had developed a shrill kind of quality that later life, in its infinite wonders, sought fit to bestow upon her. It was the type of voice that reminded Gohan of those old ladies that wore the flamboyant red hats with violet sheer, always outspoken and loud with their crimson lipstick and faux beauty marks that so conveniently hid the slowly sagging skin beneath. He sincerely hoped that the graying of his peers would not bring that image so close to his home. Several other women genteelly decorated their departure as Videl stepped out from the backseat with a meager parcel upon her arm. She was in that cute little black dress that she hadn't worn in ages. He'd only seen her dawn it once, personally. He had since forgotten how it drew up her legs as she bent over slightly to wave to people in the car window as the machine sputtered back to life. She had worn her hair down today somewhat carelessly, but it suited her. It really did. She turned away from him; she must not have seen him in the dark, and waved down the hill. There were neighbors a ways from here that occasionally hosted bon fires, she must have seen the flames and waved for all the good that it would do. No one can see us here.

A weight tugged in his grip. He had almost forgotten that he had a rather strange, rather pale figure attached to him. Attached was a poor word to describe it. By the way the kid struggled and tensed in the loose grip, it was more like Gohan was the boy with the glass jar and this kid was a firefly. There was a moment where their eyes met, his and the kid's. While Gohan's eyes, eyes darker and calmer than the sky tonight, reflected nothing but good intentions, the kid's were wild and bloodshot, the pupils mere pinpricks swimming in the deep blue sea. The contact was short-lived, however, The Boy made sure of that. Gohan was snapped out of his phantom daze by a sharp pain in his hand. When he looked down, he saw that this kid was trying to pry his hand off and was digging his claws in. Son of a bitch. Gohan wasn't a stupid man and he knew quite precisely that if this kid slipped up or panicked that those claws would slice right through his hand and lay siege to the tendons beneath. As things were going now, they had only managed to deliver small, annoying paper cuts and other superficial wounds that bled out far more than necessary. He heaved a sigh and shook his head at the kid who looked as though he would have a coronary at any given moment. He was halfway through restraining the kid when he heard a voice calling his name. Videl wanted him for something or other. The lights turned on in the house and the click of her heeled shoes could be heard from outside. The knob of the backdoor squeaked gently before opening.

"Gohan, where are you? The neighbors called earlier and asked if we've seen their mastiff, Cassidy. She got loose last night and they've been looking all – oh." She cut her sentence short as the door swung all the way open.

Gohan had managed to get Seven's hand away from his own and had resorted to holding both of the kid's hands behind his back and using his other free hand to wrap around his shoulder and chest, so that he could very firmly whisper in the teenager's ear that he needed to calm down and sit still. Both of them stopped moving entirely when they saw Videl's figure silhouetted in the kitchen light. Her slack jawed reaction was fitting to the sight before her. After all, how many times in her life could see have possibly seen her husband, the renowned scholar, wrestling with a half naked, half wet boy. It made her wonder about all the things she _didn't_ catch him doing. It was in this period of perhaps ten seconds of pure silence in which Gohan and his wife's eyes met that he reissued the title of _'Most Awkward Moment of my Life'_ to the nightmare that was happening now. As though on queue to draw out his infinite humiliation, The Boy pressed hard against Gohan, backing away from he door and Videl. He was trying to run away, but in reality the only running he was doing was into a roadblock of morality that Videl was quickly and mercilessly weaving. If her head weren't planted so stiffly on her shoulders, Gohan would have not been surprised in the least to see it spinning circles and spewing pea soup. Videl's jaw clenched and that vein in her neck that pulsates whenever she gets overly upset looked as though it were about to erupt.

"Sweetie," Gohan's voice wavered as he spoke very slowly, "This is Seven." Apparently 'Seven' was the key word, because Videl slammed the door with such force upon hearing it that the whole house quivered slightly.

Gohan grimaced against the kid's shoulders before releasing his grip so abruptly that the kid didn't have time to correct himself before stumbling forward. Gohan ran both hands from the back of his head forward before letting them fling to the sides in an overwhelmed gesture. He told The Boy to sit there in a way that guaranteed that no good would befall him if so much as a foot were set out of place. Gohan left in a hurry after his marriage with those words. The cries of "Just listen!" and "It's not what you think!" echoed from the house along with the frantic, clearly upset cries of Videl following after.

It was in these moments that Seven had time to think, reflect rather, upon all the things that he had been told through the years. Things like he should stay away from situations like these because no good ever came from them. Then again, situations exactly like these had never even been covered in the many lectures of his continuing youth. He knew he should have stayed away and not even so much as thought to set foot anywhere near the Son residence, but he didn't listen. Now look where he was. The prominent thought on his mind was that he was going to die. He was going to sit down and die because Videl was going to kill him and when he was dead, Piccolo was going to stop by and kill him again- and perhaps he'd be killed a third time by Gohan, just to make sure that the job was sufficiently done. Seven ended up sitting on the terrace with his back facing the doorway. The light from the house illuminated his skin, showing every bony jut and pseudo-albino patch of skin on his frame. With his hands on either side of his head, he stared intently at the grass between his feet while the yelling commenced.

A good half hour must have passed before he heard the noise stop. He hadn't paid much attention to what was being said; it was painfully obvious that it was nothing positive. Because of this, Seven didn't so much as flinch when he heard two sets of feet padding down the tiled floors to the doorway. The light emanating from it was blocked, leaving only splotches of light to dot the late evening grass. He could have picked up every word the whispering couple, if they still were a couple, was saying if he really wanted to, but he just compressed his ears between his clenched palms to drown them out. If he was going to die, he didn't want the last words he would ever hear to be comments on who he was or what he looked like. But those words never came. His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of Gohan's bare feet, albeit not exactly the most pleasant sight to be held, but he wasn't going to argue. He felt the man's newly bandaged hand tap on his shoulder gently. It made his skin crawl. Eventually Seven had to look up at Gohan, if for no other reason than staring at a person's feet for too long was just plain odd. He noticed immediately that the man's cheeks were flushed; a thin layer of sweat had formed on his brow and stuck a few stray hairs to his face. It must have been some argument. Seven glanced over his shoulder to see Videl. Her hair was tussled and her eyes were weary, probably from crying, he noted. It made him feel horrible. When he let go of his ears, he folded them back against his head so that maybe, just maybe, his mess of hair would hide them from view. Gohan quirked a brow and motioned for him to stand, which Seven did, but he wasn't ready to. Videl shifted her weight but didn't move from the doorway. She was about as comfortable as anyone else in this place.

With a strong hand, Gohan turned Seven around so that he was facing Videl and gave him a nudge forward. "Videl, this is Seven," Gohan paused, taking a look at the kid who was hiding his face away from the door. "This is Pic's kid."

Seven's face hardened and he stood there like a wilted leaf and crossed his arms over his stomach in hopes that the first woman to see his naked torso wouldn't notice how gaunt and sickly he looked. At this point in time, he wasn't sure if he could take much criticism. Videl made a face at him that was nearly unreadable. She seemed partially disgusted, which seemed to be aimed more at Gohan than anything, and part sympathetic. She folded her arms and made a mild "Humph." Before smiling tartly.

"The both of you better come in before it gets too cold out." She pointed a tapered finger at Seven whose eyes widened at the motion. "Especially you. You're going to catch a cold out here." With that she turned back inside the house.

Gohan let out a pent up breath noisily and looked at the kid next to him before patting his back and guiding him towards the door. Naturally, Seven drug his feet in protest but ultimately found that he had no choice in the matter.

* * *

Sitting at the kitchen table. It would seem like such an innocent action, had he not been the show pony of the day. The table was cleared of all its fineries and on either side of him sat Gohan and Videl. He compared it to being interrogated, even though no words had been spoken yet. The couple had made several subtle gestures to one another suggesting that someone should say something. As it stood, however, Seven was sitting hunched over in the dining room chair with his knees digging into the bottom of the table and hanging his head in hopes that he could somehow become invisible. Videl had been so kind as to get him a towel to dry off with, but made a quip about how Gohan's shirt had done most of the work already. It was embarrassing, but she hardly seemed that mad, which made breathing a whole lot easier for everyone else. Seven had taken to draping the towel over his back. The line of hair that followed his spine to his neck seemed to take more time to dry than the rest of his hair.

"So," Videl was the first to speak, she clapped her hands together once as though to finalize a statement. "How are you?"

One would think that these formalities would have died out a long time ago.

Seven nodded and kept his eyes downcast "Okay" His voice cracked slightly when he answered.

Videl smiled at it though. "Just okay? I'm surprised you aren't cold in here. We try to keep the house pretty cool."

Seven nodded again, "Okay."

Her smiled faded at that and she folded her hands in her lap. "Well, I think I'm going to make a pot of coffee. You do drink coffee, don't you?" She waited for Seven to nod his head slightly before excusing herself from the table and going to the kitchen.

Gohan took this opportunity to lean over to Seven. "Hey," His voice was barely above a whisper.

Seven merely glanced over at him, the corners of his mouth drawing further down.

"It's okay, you know. You don't have to be so tense here." Gohan tried his best to be soothing. He really did. But the only response that was issued to him was a concrete and unforgiving glare.

Gohan sat straight up in his chair when Videl came back with three mugs of coffee.

"What have you been up to lately?" She asked, taking a long, slow drink from her cup. "You've changed so much since I last saw you that I didn't even recognize who you were."

Seven stared down into the coffee that was placed in front of him and gave a half shrug.

Videl looked towards Gohan, hoping to get an answer, but he only shook his head and made a gesture with his hands that he didn't know.

"Well, how are you and Piccolo getting along nowadays? I heard he stopped by here a few days ago asking about you, I could—" Gohan shook his head tensely and pressed his lips into a line, giving the signal for Videl to stop.

Seven actually managed to look up at them for a moment, expectantly waiting for Videl to finish her sentence. When it became painfully clear that it wasn't going to happen, he refocused his efforts on the coffee and with a short nod said, "Okay."

Videl tapped the sides of her cup with her nails before gently biting her bottom lip and nodding. "Okay then," she paused, collecting another breath. "Gohan, could you help me with something in the kitchen? It'll only take a moment."

Unwilling to upset his wife any further tonight, Gohan excused himself politely and followed after her. They met in the corner of the kitchen that wasn't directly visible from the dining room.

"Is he retarded?" Videl's hushed tone was barely loud enough for Gohan to pick up.

"What? No, no he's not." Gohan looked over his shoulder like he expected the kid the be right there watching them "He's just not use to people, hun, he's been alone out there for years."

"I thought he had Piccolo there with him? It's certainly no excuse to be this quiet. Do you think he doesn't like me?"

Gohan sighed and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I don't think Pic' pays much attention to him, really." He wet his lip lightly. "Besides, Piccolo is a man of few words. I'd be happy the kid speaks at all; and I'm sure he likes you plenty, just give him a chance to open up, all right?"

"Fine, fine." Videl swished her hand in front of her. "But maybe we should get a meal into him. He just doesn't look natural and he's so pale, I mean if he's trying to imitate death then he's certainly winning the pri—"

"Hun."

"What?" She was somewhat annoyed at being interrupted, again.

"You know he can hear every word we say, right?"

"Oh" Her response was brief as she puckered her lips and knit her brow in minor embarrassment. "Really?"

Gohan simply nodded and headed back to the dining room, Videl shortly in tow. Seven was still sitting there, much to Gohan's astonishment. He had truly expected the kid to take off the instant their backs were turned. He found Seven in exactly the same way he left him, staring into the coffee mug with a downtrodden expression. For a moment he felt bad about keeping the kid semi-hostage here but figured that if there wasn't something in this boy that wanted to stay, he would have been long gone by now.

"Coffee too hot for you?" Videl chirped, annoyed that all her hospitable efforts were being rejected.

Seven abruptly glanced up at her, then to the cup. He attempted to pick it up- attempted because his hand couldn't close the grip around the ceramic mug. His fingers were like taut wire, unable to bend enough to securely hold it. He paused for a moment before taking his other hand and interlocking his fingers around the cup so he could lift it and in one very awkward motion emptied the cup entirely. Seven's nose wrinkled faintly. Gohan looked down at his steaming mug. That must have been painful . . .

The action silenced Videl, who looked to Gohan for a reprieve.

Gohan stammered before coming to the rescue, "Well, if you wouldn't mind, I think I'll borrow Seven for a bit. We have a lot to talk about." He scooted out of his seat hurriedly and shooed the kid off toward the study, which proved to be a greater task than he realized because Seven was determined not to scratch the floor, making walking all the more difficult.

Safely behind the doors of his study, Gohan sighed, thankful to have removed himself from that situation. He was certain that Videl would have the last word tonight anyway. He turned around and planted his back to the door. The kid was standing there with a vacant thousand-meter stare out the picture window. Charming.

"Lets sit down." Gohan motioned to his desk and the spare chairs in front of it. Playing the role of teacher always made him feel more comfortable.

Seven did not so much as look at him as he crept toward the chair and sat down. He placed the towel that had been draped over his back in a crumpled pile in his lap. It was almost comical the way his hair stuck up at every odd angle like a blow-dried rag doll, but Gohan had the sense about him not to laugh. This kid looked as cheerful as a mortuary. Gohan sat in his chair and reclined, folding his hands in his lap.

"Oh, will you stop that?" He couldn't take much more of this sulking, glaring attitude. He dealt with it once with Pan; he didn't need to relive it again.

Seven exhaled hoarsely through his nose. "When you tell me why you want me to stay."

"I want to know what's going on with you. Maybe we can get to be friends?" Gohan said with a sigh as he leaned over and picked up the dragonball from the corner of his desk and fiddled with it between his palms.

Seven actually scoffed at that. "You didn't care five years ago so why are you bothering me now?" His voice was much colder than Gohan had recalled it being.

Gohan nodded. He guessed that was fair enough. "I just don't want anything bad happening to you."

"No." The kid shook his head before gazing out the window. "No, you're not going to play that game with me, Gohan. You can play it with everyone else, but not me."

Gohan's brow knit. He really didn't like being spoken to in profile.

"You can tell yourself and everybody else that you're worried about me, that you're supposedly so _afraid_ for my safety, but you're not. You want to know what's wrong with Piccolo, so you're asking me." Gohan had to admit that it hurt a little to hear those words, but he only smiled at them.

"If that's what you think, then why did you bring me food tonight and leave this for me?" He held up the dragonball before placing it back on his desk. "You're the one that keeps coming around here; there's no need for this resentful attitude when I'm only trying to help." His voice remained calm; situations like these arose far too many times in his day for him to get aggravated anymore.

The kid opened his mouth for a second before shutting it to gather his words. His expression softened and the muscles in his arms and chest that had been tense for most of the night finally relaxed. He looked almost serene in his thoughts. The kid looked a lot better when he wasn't constantly putting on a façade so bitter that it could eat the paint off a car, Gohan noted.

"You're not really a bad kid, are you?" With that, Seven's expression melted back into a pool of utter dissatisfaction. Gohan was sure this was going to be a long night if he didn't keep pushing. "You want to know that you're not alone and that there's someone that's here for you?" In his mind, he had this picture of a warm embrace as the kid let it all out and told him what was wrong, but reality dashed his fairytale all to quickly.

"What?" The proverbial violin stopped playing and Seven's eyes shot up at Gohan. The look on his face was a mixture of mild insult, a tinge of anger, and a large dose of confusion. "Are you trying to patronize me?"

"I'm trying to help but you don' seem to want it."

"That's because you're not trying to help me at all. You want to know why Piccolo's agitated and after all these years of you forgetting about him that he would show up now. Isn't it obvious?"

Gohan sat there, eyes intently focused on the kid before him. For once he did not have an answer.

"It's because of you. He picked you first and is stuck with me. Compared to you I'm a raging disappointment in every aspect of the word. He's compensating for me by seeing you." Seven's lips pulled together in a harsh line and he reverted his gaze to the window.

Silence fell upon them for what must have been a solid ten minutes. Videl's knock on the door drew them both out of their contemplation. She bid a quiet good night before retiring to bed, hoping Gohan would refrain from any more . . .peculiar actions. Gohan cleared his throat, placing a fist over his mouth as he did so.

"If that is so, Seven, then you want to know what it is about me that he values so much?" Gohan's brow knit as he thought over the question himself, but deep down he knew the answer, telling the kid it, however, was another matter unto itself.

"No, I want to know what it is about you that makes him shun me."

"It's the same thing. I take it he never told you any stories of the past, did he?"

The corners of Seven's mouth rose in amusement. "The man can barely stand to look at me."

"Well the family resemblance is a bit, well, stretched." Gohan tried to soften the situation.

"If you think for one moment that he's actually my father then you're not only jaded, but blind."

Gohan's mouth hung agape as he tried to form the right words to ask what in damnation Seven was talking about. Before he could muster anything intelligible, Seven stood, placing the towel over the arm of the chair, and started towards the basement door, which looped around to the front exit. He could feel Piccolo waiting for him outside. He counted on Gohan's shock to block his senses from feeling it as well.

"Ask Bulma about it and about the dragonball as well." He closed the basement door behind him, leaving Gohan alone in his study to sort this mess out.


	9. Interlude

**Note: I feel the need to explain this chapter a little bit. It's serving as an interlude for this story. I know the next real chapter will be awhile in the making because of the sheer amount of information that needs to go in it. This prose is set some time after the events that go down in Quote Unquote, and it's told from Gohan's perspective on what happened; that being said, there are some spoilers in here, but none that should ruin the story whatsoever. Enjoy.**

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"The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder." – Virginia Woolf

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You know, I think I did it to myself sometimes; that I shouldn't have been so needy, but it wasn't my fault. It simply could not have been my fault. Not like Cell was my fault, not like the thousands of days that my father spent hiding away from his family were my fault. This was different.

I've never seen a person be so angry and wrathful. I've seen my mother in outright rage at my best friend, I've seen everyone I know, at some point, let loose their inhibitions and release such a torrent of anger and malice that it could rip the world in two if only it had been directed to. But no, this was different. This was toward me. I've never had anyone truly hate me before, you know? I mean sure, I've had people, things, monsters that want to kill me, but it was never personal, I knew that. This was. And it hurt—it hurt so deeply that I can't stop thinking about it and why it happened. I had always liked him even when he was distant. I always tried to be nice to him and offer all that I had to make things better, but it never worked. I guess that it was just me. . . but this was not an irrational hatred. He had a purpose and it took me this long to figure it out.

Oddly enough, it all started with names.

I remember the first time I saw him. He was at Capsule Corps. and I was visiting Bulma and her family while finishing up my Master's thesis. It's kind of a funny thing when I look back on it. I was writing about what he was. The idea had become a hot topic in those days and Bulma was the first to capitalize on it, even though at that time the kinks had not been worked out completely. Some say her project was a failure, but I never thought the creation of a soul could ever be called something as ruthless as that. At very least what she did was a miracle that has yet to be repeated. Anyway, there was this kid, this sad little figure with skin so milky pale and hair that was as dark as my own but matte. His eyes were oddly fatigued and deeply, insanely blue. I have yet to see eyes that were so intense and so downtrodden, even when happy. I remember the first words I ever said to him _"Why hello there little guy, what's your name?" _I made sure that my voice was as cheerful and upbeat as possible, but it didn't make a difference.

And it was then that he gave me that look. It's a look he's reserved for me and only me. He looked at me over his shoulder, I was standing just to the side of him crouched down to his level, and just stared at me. His face was so vacant yet subtly . . .angry that I didn't know how to react to him. Bulma was in the room with me, I don't quite remember where Trunks and Vegeta were, but it didn't matter. Bulma must have nudged him because I knew this kid wasn't going to answer me of his own accord. He replied simply _"I don't have a name"_

"_Of course you do, squirt, everyone has a name!" _I really tried to cheer him on, to make him feel accepted, but I only made things worse.

"_People have names." _He said it in a deadpan. I thought it was a question at the time so I just laughed and told him what I said before, that everyone has a name.

"_I'm not a person," _He said. _"I don't have a name." _It almost hurt me to see the look in his eyes. He wasn't sad or indignant; it was just this look of knowing. It made me wonder what Bulma had been telling him.

I looked over to Bulma who honestly seemed a little embarrassed about his response. She laughed nervously and waved a hand in front of her face like she was trying to bat away some sweeping thought. She said that it was high time that this kid got a name and that she had been meaning to give him one for awhile but just was so swept up in things that she hadn't gotten around to it. She suggested names like David and John and Michael, but this kid gave her a look that made her stop listing things off that sounded good to her. He sighed and shook his head and flexed his hands. I hadn't noticed the almost clear little claws that the last joint of his fingers curved into. I thought it was cute at the time. Then he did something that to this day I still think is odd. He turned to face Bulma completely and looked her over once. _"I know I'm not real." _He was calm _"I knew I came from in there, because I'm always there. Nothing real comes from in there, does it?" _He nodded in the direction of Bulma's favorite lab. It was down the hall but even from here you could see the doorway. Bulma tried to tell him that lots of good things came from there and that all the things that make her so proud have come from that room, especially him. He seemed unmoved, but nodded in acceptance. _"Then what is the name of that room?" _Bulma offered her best smile and explained that was lab number seven, it was her favorite lab to work in. I thought it was adorable the way his eyes got so big and full of wonder. That was before I realized what he was going to say. _"And which one am I?" _neither Bulma nor I understood his question at first and we looked to one another for all the good that it would do. _"You said that lab was your favorite."_ Bulma stated again that it was with a questioning tone behind her voice. _"And it's your favorite because you get to work with things like me" _She nodded and said that in so many words he was right. _"And how many others are there?"_ Bulma seemed almost shocked and explained that there were no others, that he was the only one she had right now and that made him very special. All this seemed to irritate him. _"But how many were there before you made me?"_ His smiled faded and she shook her head faintly. There were six, she said, but she was so sure that he was best of them. This only made him wilt like a dead flower. It looked as though all the life had been zapped out of him. _"There are no more left."_ He said, looking at his feet to avoid eye contact. _"What happens to me when you make the next one?" _The words Bulma said next are forever stuck in my head.

"_Oh, this isn't good." _She placed a hand to her chest and for the first time since I got there I was genuinely worried. I thought that, surely, Bulma was only concerned about how this kid was thinking. He was a depressing little thing to be around, but that had to be it.

Then he smiled. _"Don't worry about it." _His smile faded into a contented smirk "_Why don't you name me Seven. Maybe I'll get lucky." _It was heartbreaking the way he said it. I looked at him in utter shock as he walked over to the sterile table that was on the far side of the room and scuttled up the side of it, crinkling the white paper sheet that was covering its surface. _"It's about time for my checkup, anyway."_ He looked at me as though he had never seen me before and wasn't expecting me to be there_. "I hope I see you again someday."_ He waved to me, or rather halfway closed his hand and opened it a few times. I don't think his fingers worked right. But I left after that. I was going to meet my parents for lunch. Dad had won the tournament again (sometimes I wonder why they don't just give him an automatic win by default when he signs up) and was taking everyone who wanted to go out for lunch. I waved back to him before looking at Bulma who suddenly seemed world-weary.

"_I don't think I can do it."_ She said through her fingers as her hand partially covered her mouth. She glanced at me. Her eyes were wide with fear

She had no idea what she had gotten herself into.

Then there was the second time I saw him. It was about a year after the first time, almost to the day. I was desperately seeking a new job. Things had been going great with Videl and I. We weren't married yet, but we might as well have been. We had been talking about it seriously for some time then. About three months later we set the date. I'm getting beside the point. I was looking for a job and about to return home to my parent's house. I had an apartment that I rented near my university, but I needed to save money whenever I could and always moved back home. I was taking a hike through the deep woods that surrounded the house. I knew I would eventually find Piccolo. I missed him more than I let on. I just couldn't let people know how I really felt about things; it'd make my life all the more difficult. I started running after awhile because I sensed that his ki was near and slightly elevated. I knew nothing was wrong, I was just curious about what was going on.

I eventually found him in a grassy clearing. His back was turned to me and he was yelling at something I couldn't see. This both worried and intrigued me. I couldn't sense another significant presence here, nothing that couldn't belong to the wildlife, and if there was nothing out here, had Piccolo resorted to yelling at squirrels? I jogged toward him, which at any other time would have caught his attention immediately, but he was too transfixed on what was in front of him to recognize me. _"You have two hearts, now use them to get up and fight me!" _In my surprise I couldn't help but to call out to Piccolo. I needed to know what was going on. When he whipped around to face me, I saw that same kid. He was laid out flat on the ground with his the mud. His shoulders were shaking, but he wasn't making a sound. I broke the rules and went over to help the kid up to his feet. He had grown a bit taller and was wearing a miniature gi I'm guessing Piccolo made for him. It was dark gray with a similar belt, but it was caked in all form of mud, dirt, and debris. He looked up at me and gave me that same blank expression that he did before. I felt sorry for him. I knew way back then that this kid couldn't be the fighter Piccolo was adamant about carving him in to. I never doubted that he could fight and could be decent at it if he really worked, but he would ultimately grow up to be a wiry adult if he grew up at all. You could see it in his build already.

Piccolo only sighed and walked away from us. I was conflicted on whether to stay with the kid or go follow Pic' and ask what in this life or the next was going on. Why was this kid here to begin with. Did Bulma even know about it? I gave the kid a pat on the shoulder and briefly said that it was going to be all right and that Pic' sometimes acts like that because he doesn't know how else to encourage someone to give it their best. Seven shook his head and rather pointedly said that it was because Piccolo was disappointed in him. I offered my best sympathetic face, knowing all to well what he was feeling, and headed toward Piccolo who was going to his mediating grounds. When I caught him the questions spilled out of me like lava. I was nearly exasperated. I knew what kind of fuss Bulma had made over this kid. I didn't know at the time what made him such a big deal, but if it caught Bulma's attention, it must have been something important. I must have worn thin on Piccolo's patients because I saw his brow furrow as he looked at me.

"_He's mine." _Piccolo was unamused as he cast an eye over to where the kid was stretching like he had taught him to do while warming up. _"She never told you about that part, did she?" _I was flabbergasted. My mouth kept moving but no words were coming out.

How could that have been? They had no visible similarities. Piccolo is the color of pine and this kid was, as best as I could tell, void of any and all pigmentation; Piccolo has those distinct pink patches protecting his muscles and this kid, who I might add had no musculature whatsoever, had skin as smooth as alabaster. If the presence of body hair was not enough to rule him out of the genetic line, then I'm not sure what was. Piccolo folded his arms over his chest. _"I don't know what she did. I don't want to."_ He paused in a pained fashion and leaned against a tree. _"Bulma came around here about two months ago with this kid and practically begged me to take him off of her hands. She blabbered a string of things that meant nothing to me before finally spitting out that this brat 'mine anyway'." _He scoffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand absently. _"Closest blood relation. Doesn't show." _The placid quality of his voice was what scared me the most. If I had received such news I would have been in a full-scale panic. There was a lot more going on than I was aware of then. It wouldn't be till years later that I could see the start of a very faint green blush over his skin and his face start to mature into a gaunter yet eased version of Pic's. It was the only link that was distinct between them. Sure, the kid had hell for pointed ears, but there were half a dozen native and hundreds of foreign species that share the same trait. Besides, this kid's ears always drooped, Pic's ears can't. I hounded him for the rest of that day, but I hardly made the kind of progress I was expecting. I found out that the kid wasn't directly related to him. From what I heard, they were more like distant cousins with a few other things thrown into the melting pot. At one point I poked fun that this boy could be related to everyone we had come to call friends for all we knew. I pressed a giggle with the thought of what the kid of Vegeta, Krillin, Piccolo, and heck, even myself would look like. The image itself would have nearly made me fall over laughing if it wasn't for the look of contemplation that Piccolo gave me. We both knew the idea was preposterous, but we knew even less about that kid back then. Anything was possible in those times. Somehow out of all that mess, I convinced myself that the kid, Seven, was Pic's son. It made me smile to think of him as that. In a way, I think the kid needed it. Things never got better though.

I stuck around for awhile though. I saw the kid grow up, well, partially. He became stronger through training, but he couldn't do what Piccolo expected him to. He was just a normal kid in my eyes and all the training in the world would only do so much good. It was shortly after I left that I think Piccolo gave up on training him. I'm not sure when it happened precisely, but when I came back to visit the next time, I learned of Pic's decision. The kid had grown another foot when I saw him. It was just before he got sick and things went downhill. His eyes were red-rimmed and sagging, his skin was cool to the touch, bordering on clammy. He was faint and shaky and from what I remember, the lights were out upstairs. He looked like a puppet. Piccolo insisted that he was not sick, that this had happened from time to time and that he had asked Bulma about this, but she said that he merely needed to eat more. Piccolo later commented that Seven was a bad hunter and refused to eat animals. Pic' managed to find a way to break him of that in the desert. After that, blood never seemed to bother him.

Time kept passing by. It's very good at doing that, by the way. I saw the kid around the time of Pan's tenth birthday. People always use to give us hell because she was born before Videl and I were married, but I have no regrets. We had a place of our own then and I insisted that Uncle Piccolo come and see Pan on her big girl birthday. I've never been sure if this kid was younger or older than my daughter, but I always assume he was a few years younger. I thought he was going to be good company for Pan. She hadn't met many boys back then and this was potentially a good trial run for her. Things, like I said, were worse then. Something had happened since I last saw the kid. I made a note to always drop by every couple months to see how things were going, but at that point my visits had started to become sparse. I remembered how vacant this kid was before. Like a light bulb that refused to shine for anyone until it was ready. I had no idea that things had gotten to the point that they had. This kid use to be at least somewhat responsive and would at least smile and wave to you when coming or departing. He was a gargoyle now. He refused to speak any more than necessary and would hardly move within ten feet of, well, anybody. I had personally been on the receiving end of my fair share of hugs from this kid only a few months ago—or had it been years? Whatever the case, this was wrong. I kept asking and asking what the problem was, but Seven simply became annoyed with my pestering and said that he didn't want to scare the girls with the way he looked. I tried to convince him that he was being silly and that no one here was going to be afraid of him. _"Oh, really?"_ His tone was so wrought down with sarcasm that I could have drowned in it. I noticed that he wasn't looking at me, but slightly past me as he was speaking. When I turned around, I saw a swarm of little girls in their colorful costumes hiding behind the apple tree that was in our front yard, peeking around its bark, pointing and snickering at us. That was the third time Seven gave me that blank stare of his. I felt horrible. I really, really did. I would have never asked him to come if I knew that was going to happen. I should have apologized for it, but he ran off too quickly. I never got the chance to for another five years. That kid can downright disappear when he wants to.

I saw him again in the aforementioned time period. I had been hearing of the various problems that he had been causing Pic' for some time, but I highly disregarded it as typical kid behavior. I had a lot of stuff on my mind anyway. I was out training with Pic' for a few weeks over the summer. I tried to do this when I could afford some time off of work. Pan no longer thought it was cool to hang out with her dad anyway, so I let her and her mother go take a mini vacation while I was away. I think Videl preferred things that way. While I was training with Pic, I commented that I never saw Seven around. I absently wondered if he had died and I had not known about it. He had just gotten sick after that party and no one thought he was going to make it. Piccolo grunted and told me to keep my concentration, then made some underhanded comment about how sloppy I had become. I laughed it off and gave him a run for his money. It was late in the evening before we stopped training. Pic' and I had stopped by the black pond waterfall. It was one of those tiny waterfalls that was more like a bump in the river than an actual fall, but it was the best one in my opinion. No one could ever find it aside from us and the water was so serene and dark that it was nigh indulgent. We sat there for the longest time. I rested on my back with my head propped up against Pic's leg while he sat there Indian style trying to meditate. It was just one of those things that happened. Just one. I burrowed my way closer and closer into Piccolo while he initially sat there and grumbled under his breath. As much as he would hate to admit it, he's an amazing pillow. I kept pressing him and pressing him until something happened. I never planned for it to, it just did. We broke away when a sign rang out in the midst of the stillness. The kid was standing on the far side the water. He looked at Piccolo then at me. The look he gave me was far more severe. After that, it would be a long time before I saw him again.

When I did see him next, he was for all purposes grown up. I could tell he was still a kid though, but he hardly looked like one. He was tall, taller than myself and in some ways, looked older. I wouldn't have recognized him if it wasn't for his eyes. His hair had grown wild and stemmed far down his back. His limbs were long and stringy. His whole body seemed to have collapsed in upon him. What a waste, I thought. He could have been so much stronger, but I think Pic' was afraid of this kid. Regrettably later, I found out why. I tried to pull him closer to me. He seemed so desperate and alone. It was like all those kids I taught everyday at school. I wanted to help at least one kid in my lifetime, and this was the one. He wouldn't have any of it though. He was afraid of me. Me? I never understood why he was so terrified of me. It never dawned on me that it could have been something Pic' had said. Gods, that one time I let it slip. That was the year I received the dirtiest, cruel, bloodcurdling, and outright vicious, lost, panicked, desperate and pleading looks of my life. It racked my brain after that time, but I realize now the reasoning behind them. Piccolo made a choice a long time ago about him and me. Seven was the one to tell me. His words still hurt me today. _"He didn't pick me." _His eyes were downcast and this sad sort of pleasant smile was on his face before he looked up to meet my own and chuckled softly _"It's okay, I wouldn't have picked me." _I tried to embrace him after that because he looked like he was about to break into a million little pieces, but he pushed my arms down and leaned over to whisper in my ear that I wouldn't have to worry about things like this ever again because he was going to make it right.

Certain things happened that night. Things that I'm not proud of and will not repeat here.

He and Piccolo vanished for weeks on end after that. At first I was a bit scared when I couldn't sense Pic's ki, but I knew he was suppressing our link for a reason. I always figured that he was trying to clear his mind of everything. But that wasn't it. When I saw him again, he had changed. It was as though all the joys in life had been sucked from him. I asked him what Seven did to him jokingly because it didn't seem possible for that twig to do anything that would hurt anyone. Pic's face remained stony as he looked into my soul and said, _"I'll tell you some day, kid."_ And walked off.

I didn't see Seven after that. To be honest, I don't think anyone else did either. To this day I wonder what happened to him, but I'll have to wait to hear the story. Pic' never said whether that kid was okay or not, but I don't think he is. I've never gone looking for him though. I guess it's because Pic' is finally calm about it, at least outwardly. I haven't gotten around to speaking with him in ages. I guess that's the funny thing about life.

You never know when your time will run out.


	10. Down the Fox Hole

*Note: Here it goes again. Lets hope it works out for the better. Enjoy the show.

"I would tell them anything to see you split the evening, but as you see I do not have an awful lot to tell." – The Astronaut by Amanda Palmer

* * *

And somehow his breathing was not labored- chilled and harsh, but not labored. There was something oddly refreshing about the night. Perhaps it was the look on Son's face as he spoke or the general unease with which the night transgressed. Either way, he was left with a dull ache in his stomach that was disturbingly satisfying. He could feel the blood pump through his ears and his hands gently tremble as he clutched his sides with them. The feeling began to intensify almost as though he was going to double over and vomit the spit and coffee he had ingested earlier. And he knew that if he turned to look back now, he would still see the dim glow of the electric lights in the Son house. It wasn't something he could stomach.

A green figure was perched at the corner of his vision. Without asking or making a sound he stumbled over clumsy feet to rest his shoulder against a nearby maple tree, the bark scratching at his bare shoulders. The sound of rustling fabric against the soft brush of the woods accompanied by a small "Feh" of disgust made Piccolo's presence known. Seven met his eyes momentarily before resorting to staring idly at his feet; not out of shame, but because the world seemed to be dotted by pinpricks on the edges. Piccolo was talking slowly to him, his voice sounded raspy and anxious, but the words were blurred. Everything seemed topsy-turvy.

"What did you think you were doing?" The words escaped through clutched jaws as Piccolo's fist tightened into balls at his side.

He waited for a reply before repeating his question, to which the answer was a disconnected, dazed glance that wavered before falling aside.

"Boy, look at me."

"Boy." Piccolo lifted Seven's chin between his thumb and forefinger.

Seven made an absent sound somewhere between a moan and a squeak at the contact. His head felt as though it was being split open and the sound of a thousand screaming flowers was corroding his eardrums as the sun exploded into stardust and terrible apocalypse. He felt Piccolo jerk his head once, twice, but the sensation didn't register as his own. It was like watching a puppet master play and mangle your body from the third person. At the same time, brief flashes of the night's transgressions burst into his consciousness along with the one-sided 'sparing' match and the watered down taste of his blood and soil, that fierce pang in his groin and the tenseness of his jaw during the conversation in the cave. Then there were other memories- memories of laying face down in the mud after loosing a fight, of eating chocolate ice cream when he was five and discovering he was lactose intolerant, of that girl kissing him on the cheek, and when he broke his arm climbing a tree, of when Piccolo and Gohan collapsed after a fight, and the look on his own face as he—wondered if this is what an anxiety attack felt like?

All the while Piccolo's voice ran blue circles around his eyelids and the jerky movements Piccolo made as he tried to get his attention was like watching a stop-motion film. He couldn't help it, really.

"Listen to me," Piccolo started hesitantly when he was sure he made contact through his son's glassy orbs. "Listen. Don't go back," He paused only to keep Seven's face from slipping out of his grip. "I won't let you do it a second time. Not to . . .Gohan."

Seven lifted his head of his own accord and Piccolo's hand dropped to his side. His chapped lips were slightly parted, his upper lip covered in a thin sheen of sweat; his hair was matted down against his scalp and his eyes rendered the outline of Piccolo's face if only for a moment before his entire body seemed to convulse in one sickening lurch and all the worry and panic that had resided in his gut was resting peacefully between Piccolo's feet. He heard Piccolo make some malcontent noise before he decided it was best not to be there at the moment and blacked out.

Piccolo cursed under his breath as he disgustedly used one hand to keep The Boy from falling face forward into his vomit and raised the other halfheartedly as he cast the mess a passing glare. _What's wrong with you?_ The thought resounded in his head as he draped Seven's arm over his shoulder and took him further into the canopy where, he hoped, things would get better.

* * *

Bulma sighed and exhaled a breath of smoke as she sat in her office. She regarded her nails in plain fashion, deciding that they were in desperate need of buffing, and took a note of the time by glancing at her watch. It was half past five and she was expecting company. Ever since she passed ownership of Capsule Corporation to her son, she had discovered far more of this thing called 'time' on her hands than she had originally planned, which wasn't much to begin with. Looking back on it, passing the company onto Trunk's shoulders may have been a bad idea. He accepted the responsibility, of course, but it never seemed to settle right with him. What was done was done.

Today was going to be a good one. She could feel it in her bones.

The faint glimmer of headlights in the afternoon alerted her to Gohan's approach. Who else was careful enough to use their lights during midday? The car pulled up in her driveway, the tires crawling to a halt on the concrete, lights fading to nothing, and Gohan, freshly ragged from his school day, stepped out, straightened his jacket and readjusted the strap on his tattered messenger bag before proceeding towards the door. Bulma smiled as she put out her cigarette in the ashtray and met him at the door. He, of course, greeted her with the typical Son smile but an air of insincerity hung over him like a dark cloud. She could feel her own smile fade as he stood there and waved to her from the door. Languidly, she uncrossed her legs to stand and straightened out her formal skirt before answering the door. Gohan shoved his hands in his pockets and relaxed his face before stepping in.

"You know you're welcome to come in, Gohan." A hint of amusement tugged in her voice as she slowly closed the door behind her and offered Gohan the seat across from her.

"I know, it just never felt right barging uninvited." He sat down as though he was afraid the chair would give way under him.

"Fair enough," She offered him a cigarette, which he silently refused with a shake of his hand "what brings you out here today?"

"Since when did you start smoking?" He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees.

"What, I can't enjoy myself a bit?" She stifled a smug laugh with a puff of smoke "Now, what really brings you out here, Son Gohan?"

"I'm here to ask you about a boy." He met her gaze directly, but she seemed to be lost.

"A boy?"

"The boy, the one you left with Piccolo."

She took a long look at Gohan, her brow knitting as she did. It was as though he was speaking of some taboo subject that ought not be mentioned too loudly.

Finally she sat down and tapped the tip of her cigarette on the ashtray before putting it out. "It's been so long, I don't see why it much matters anymore. Why do you ask? He's probably been dead for years now."

"What makes you say that?" He rubbed his chin between his index finger and thumb, noting with some remorse that he had missed a spot while shaving.

"Given his condition, it's likely that he didn't make it. I'll ask you again, why does this concern you now of all times?" A tinge of annoyance crept into her voice.

"He's not dead." The words seem to hang on his lips longer than necessary.

"Don't be silly, of course he is." Bulma flippantly pulled out a drawer in the file cabinet that sat adjacent to her desk and glanced through it as though to dismiss the conversation.

"No he's not, I was just speaking to the kid just the other day!" Gohan found himself half standing up and looking down at Bulma who looked mildly shocked but not at all concerned.

"Gohan, sit down." She glared up at him, willing him with her eyes to resume his seat lest hell catch his coat tails. "Now what makes you so sure?"

Bulma turned and pulled out an envelope that was in the very back of her file cabinet and cut it open with the letter opener that sat next to the pencil holder on her desk. With a flick of her wrist she emptied the contents of the envelope into her hand. It was an older model of the DynoCap that Gohan hadn't seen for a several years. She listlessly rolled the capsule between her fingers as though the very action somehow entertained her.

"Because I had him over for dinner last night and he wasn't particularly fond of our hosting." The sarcasm his voice carried could have been cut with a knife.

Bulma rolled her eyes and brushed his comments off.

"Is that so?" With the press of a button, she opened the capsule.

Inside there was an outdated notebook computer, a few slim memory disks, and a clear plastic file that couldn't have contained more than a dozen papers. She pushed the file toward Gohan as she opened the computer and started typing away. He let it sit on the desk in front of him.

"And you said that you saw this young man yesterday, at your dinner table, and he was rude about the matter?" She scrolled down on the screen, not bothering to take note of the expressing on Gohan's face.

"Are you going to—"

"If what you're saying is true, then this 'boy', as you called him would be fifteen years old?"

"Yes?" Gohan slumped against the back of his chair; he hardly saw what this prattle had to do with anything.

"Then you should see that it's not possible. You've mistaken this boy for someone else."

"I am not simply mistaken, Mrs. Briefs. Tell me why it is that you think that it is 'not possible'." His voice had grown stern and he could feel his hands clench upon the arms of the chair.

"He became sick years ago—" She scrolled down once more, her eyes reading over the lines of text, "fallen ill to what was later described as sepsis."

"I know he was sick but he didn't die from the disease, you know this as well as I do!"

"Are you accusing me of lying?" She finally looked up from the screen and made eye contact with Gohan.

"I'm saying that you know better, Bulma." The words were pronounced very slowly, decisively.

"Who do you think you are coming into my house and calling me a liar to my face?" Her knuckles were white, her face red not merely because of the cosmetic blush that covered her aging skin, but from anger.

Gohan could feel the clock ticking down on the bomb.

"After all this time you come to bother me about a project that died off years ago? If you really cared you would have asked me sooner! It's none of your business what I do with mine!" Her voice trailed off in Gohan's head.

With age, the already fiery Mrs. Briefs had gained a new luster—not only was she able to walk right up to your face and unabashedly yell till her throat was raw, she could go at it much, much longer than she had before. He made a mental note with this as she was taking a chainsaw to his patients.

". . .Bulma." He kept his voice low, trying not to loose control even though his face was being repainted with her spit.

". . .And the nerve of you! You should know better than to insult me in my. . ." He could only half listen.

"Bulma. . .Bulma. . .Bulma" He tried coaxing her into calming down by speaking slowly and gesturing with his hands.

"Don't you 'Bulma' me young man! Who do you think you are trying to. . ."

"BULMA" His voice echoed down the hallway and for the briefest second she could have sworn that his eyes flashed green.

She fell silent as the sudden surge of power that Gohan let off in his anger finished prickling the hairs on the back of her neck.

An odd silence existed between them for a few moments as Bulma stared wide-eyed into Gohan's eyes and he in turn wiped his face off with the back of his sleeve.

"Sepsis isn't a disease that one simply 'gets over'."

"I know this, but—"

"Gohan!" Her voice rose ever so faintly before settling back to an even pitch. "Gohan, I know that the kid getting sick never bode well for you, but—"

"He's not dead and if I have to bring him here myself, I—"

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "This, this— Thing you're talking about received no treatment for its condition and most likely went into septic shock and died."

"And why is that!?"

She continued unperturbed "It wasn't covered by company funding anymore. There was no reason to keep It around.

"So you left him in the middle of nowhere to die?"

"You're acting as though I did this out of personal spite. If anything, I did it a favor by giving him to Piccolo!"

Gohan openly scoffed and stood up with such suddenness that it through Bulma off guard.

"What," He rested is forehead in the palm of his hand. "What makes you even think that you made the right decision?"

"Because _he_ would have been put down before he even hit the gurney otherwise."

"So instead of taking responsibility you decided to dump him on someone else?" He could feel the edge of his temper biting down on his patients.

"It's not that simple, Gohan." She continued reading the computer screen as though nothing fazed her.

"No, it is that simple. You were responsible for a little boy and you chose to negate that responsibility so you wouldn't have to worry about it anymore!"

"Stop!" That had been the final straw.

Bulma stopped Gohan's musing with a glare that could have melted ice. She stood and folded her arms taut across her chest. She was not about to take any more of this without just cause.

"What is wrong with you?" A mixture of hurt and anger resided in her voice; it caught him by surprise.

"What? Nothing!"

"The Gohan I know wouldn't come here to accuse me like this!"

Gohan plopped back down into the chain and ran his hands over his face in exhaustion. The two remained in an eerie silence, each waiting for the other to answer.

"I'm sorry." Gohan finally admitted.

"As you should be," Bulma took her seat as well. "Now tell me exactly what's wrong, but this time without the attitude."

He refrained from commenting on the statement and nodded.

"I saw the kid."

"And lets say I believe you."

"He's been stalking around my house for the past few days."

"Is he still with Piccolo?"

"Yeah, I think so. It's hard to tell anymore. Pic's been acting weird lately."

"As compared to?"

"He just isn't himself and I think that Seven is part of the reason."

"Seven?"

"The kid's name."

"It wasn't his name, but go on."

"He said you would know something about that name."

Bulma sighed, growing tired of the point being drawn out. "Seven is the number of the lab in which I worked with him, among other things."

"What's his name then?"

"I didn't assign him one."

"Mhh, and this?" Gohan unzipped his messenger bag and pulled out the seven-star dragonball. "He gave it to me yesterday."

"Cute." She said as she reached out and took the orb into her hands. "This use to be on one of my work tables in Lab 7. I gave it to the kid once to stop him from fussing about and ruining my tests. I told him. . .It—" She paused." That the ball was a good luck charm. If _it_ did give it to you, it must have thought you needed a little luck on your side."

"Oh." Gohan felt immensely disappointed by the response.

Something inside him hoped that the dragonball would have been the start of something—anything new.

"You were saying?" Bulma tapped her nails on the desk expectantly.

"I hadn't seen the kid in so long, I didn't know what to expect. I mean, I knew he was still probably around somewhere. I had heard Pic' talk about him offhandedly but it's only been in the past week or so that I've actually been able to see what's going on."

"Which is?"

"I'm not entirely sure, which is why I've been trying to coax Seven into talking to me. He seems to want to, but spooks so easily it's nearly impossible to get anything out of him. What really makes me wonder is why he waited so long to come forward. I'd damn near forgotten he was around at all."

"And you think Piccolo is responsible for this?"

He shrugged his shoulders "I don't know. He came to me a few days ago and told me that the kid was causing some grief. When I decided to check it out for myself, I stumbled upon Seven while looking for Pic'. They don't seem to be doing so well, the kid's still covered in bruises and they don't seem to be at a talking level."

"So you think Piccolo is abusive and this is making you upset?" She reverted to looking back at the screen and typing.

"No, not at all. I mean, well, Piccolo isn't the most affectionate of parental figures he'd never just outright hurt someone without a good reason to. He tries to avoid the kid as much as possible and I don't understand it."

Bulma made one final keystroke before looking up at Gohan. Her expression had barely changed from the time that this conversation started. For a moment Gohan wondered if she even had listened to what he was saying.

"I can't help you with any of those problems, Gohan. It seems like you've come to me in hopes that you could avoid confronting Piccolo about the situation, but that's the only thing you can do. You started asking me about the kid when you came in. In front of you is a brief of his report. I sent some basic information to your e-mail, but it's nothing you won't find in the news articles."

Gohan arched a brow as he hesitantly grabbed the report off of Bulma's desk and gripped it gingerly in his hands.

"News articles?" He found himself perplexed about how nonchalant Bulma appeared about this.

"Everything in my labs have served its purpose at point, including him." She closed the computer and folded her hands atop it.

"What was his purpose?" Gohan flipped open to the first page of the report and buried his nose in it.

"You'll see—oh, and don't take that out of the lab. You may leave it on the desk when you're done. One of my assistants can help you if you need anything. I'm going to be late for a conference."

Gohan's head snapped up at that. "I thought you were retired?"

"You don't get a retirement from your children, unfortunately. Trunks and I need to have a talk. Call next time before stopping by." With that, Bulma stood and straightened her outfit before turning to leave, "Gohan?" she asked with her back still turned.

"Yes?" He thumbed through the pages of the report absently while looking at her.

"You should call him Svien, it's a much nicer name." With that, she walked out of the door to her office, letting it close behind her.

* * *

Gohan spent a solid hour reading and re-reading the write-up on Seven but never found anything that would explain the troubles at hand. When he really stopped to think about it, he didn't even know what the current troubles were. He mused these things on his drive home. It felt like the more he worried about it the farther away he pushed himself from an actual answer. The fact remained that Bulma was right. He did need to talk to Pic' and was apprehensive about it. There was just something that was off about this whole situation. It was as though his life was running smoothly before these things from his past reared their ugly heads in his normality.

Tonight was one of the nights where he found himself nervously adjusting his rear view mirror every time he looked at it and the radio station was never on the right channel.

When he got home all the lights in the house were on and his home stuck out like a bonfire on the mountain. He eyed the situation curiously as he pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. He couldn't recall his wife mentioning a party or get together at their house tonight. With a sigh he grabbed his bag and climbed out of the car, shutting the door none too softly. He could hear his wife race to the front door by the time he reached the porch. She whipped the door open before he could even clear the third step.

"Gohan!" Her voice and appearance were exasperated.

Gohan froze in his steps. His normally well groomed wife stood before him with her hair tangled and frayed in every which way and wearing clothes that he had only seen her wear on laundry day. The last vestige of her former countenance was the eyeliner and mascara that had been smeared at the corner of her eyes.

"What happened?" He let his bag slide from his shoulder and plop on the ground.

"Lucy! Lucy's gone!" Videl's voice sounded as though she were about to burst into tears again at the drop of a hat.

"Who's Lucy?" Gohan leaned up against his car and sighed; his day was about to get a lot longer.

She stopped momentarily, flabbergasted. "Lucy, our dog? Don't you know this?" She motioned with her hands to emphasize the point.

"I'm sorry I've never heard you call our boy dog Lucy before."

"Well maybe if you paid more attention you would have noticed!" Her voice switched from exasperation to anger before Gohan could adjust.

"Don't start a fight with me, not now." He switched his weight to the other leg and slumped his shoulders.

"I'm not the one being argumentative here!"

"Okay, okay, look, just tell me what you want me to do."

Videl took several deep breaths to calm herself down before speaking.

"She—"

"He."

Videl shot Gohan a dirty look.

"_He _went missing just after you left for work. The fence is broken I think an animal tried to get in."

"We would have heard it. You know that dog is scared of its own shadow. He probably got out by himself."

"I've been looking for her all day and haven't found anything. What if she can't find her way home? There's too many wild animals out here, it's not safe."

"I always said he should have been a house dog."

"Gohan. We have hardwood floors, you know we can't—"

"I know."

"Can you just . . ."

"I'll bring him home. Just give me enough time to put my work in the office and get something to drink."

Videl nodded and stepped back inside.

Gohan barely had enough time to set down his office work, put on a pair of old jeans and dirty tennis shoes, and get a glass of water before Videl shoved him out the door with a flashlight. It was at this time that Gohan got the distinct impression that there was to be no dinner until this dog was safely in mommy's arms.

He started down the trail that ran next to his house. It was the trail that he and his wife often took 'Lucy' for walks on. If he was lucky enough then the dog merely walked down the path he was use to instead of staying off into the deeper part of the woods where that—No it'd be ridiculous to jump to that conclusion. It was ridiculous and unfair and unnecessary to think such things but there was this dull ache in the back of his skull that couldn't help but feel that way. Regardless, he'd stop by after he had checked other areas first.

With a heavy heart, he turned on the flashlight and took a look around. The forest seemed oddly still, as though there was nothing but him and the trees shifting in the night. After several minutes of walking in solitude with only the sound of his footsteps to accompany him, he whistled for the dog and tapped the flashlight against the side of his leg as though the motion itself was comforting. It was only after a goodly amount of time had passed and he was many miles down the path that he realized he was avoiding what he actually needed to do and had sent himself careening down a lifeless path with only the electric glow of a flashlight to guide him. He wasn't suppose to be out here right now, not along this road. The more he found himself thinking about it the more hazed everything became. It was like trying to pull an answer out of the fog.

What he did know however is that he had not done the one thing that he was sent out here to do by a supposedly higher power, and that was to find the pet rodent his wife loved so much. Sighing, he pointed his flashlight into the woods, trying to see if he could recognize the area he was at. The night had advanced quickly and while there was still enough light left to see immediately in front of you what lied beyond was lost to the crooked shadows of the woods. At first glance he couldn't tell where he was but as eyes adjusted to the beam from the flashlight, he recognized the area as the place where he often went to gather ash and yew wood to make toy bows for Pan when she was young and still interested in Robin Hood make believe.

The flashlight flickered and Gohan smacked it against the palm of his hands several times in hopes of rekindling the light. He realized that the battery would be dead before he found the dog much less made it back home. A little part of him wished that they had gotten a cat instead.

Something caught his eye deep within the woods. A small faint light that appeared to grow dimmer as he tried to concentrate on it. The smell of burning hickory wood and meat clung languidly to the air as though there was no current to carry it.

Gohan immediately felt the corners of his lips sag a little. He knew who was back there and in no circumstances was prepared to go. He had no business, no rhyme, and no reason to be bothered with this now. . . But the legion of what-ifs breeched the floodgates of his mind.

What if there was no point to being out here. What if Videl sent him looking for the dog just to get him away from the house? What if she didn't love him? What if there was cabbage for dinner? What if this and what if that and who and when and they and if.

What if that damn kid ate his dog?

The flashlight flickered once more before dying in his hands. Instead of placing it in his pocket like he usually would have, Gohan flung it into the brush, smashing it against an unsuspecting tree and shattering it into a thousand tiny yellow fragments. He could hear the birds and small animals rustle from their sleeping places in surprise, and off in the distance, he could hear something much larger moving. For a moment, he thought it spoke to him.

"I know you're out there, kid, don't bother running." He didn't expect an answer and didn't receive one as he advanced towards the flickering light that guided his way.

As he got closer, the smell got stronger. The smell was of blood and animal sweat and burning meat and dirt. Surprisingly, the only sound made was that of the soft cackling fire and his footsteps as he tramped through the brush.

"What are you doing camping out in the open? I thought you'd take up residence in a more sheltered area."

There was no reply, which was just plain rude in his mind. He could feel the kid's energy, however dismal it may be, and knew for a fact that the kid was right in front of him, probably skulking around. Tired of playing these little childish games, Gohan held out his hand, using a small flare of energy to light his way.

He could see it clearly now, the small camp the boy had made and the disaster that had happened. Tufts of white and rust orange fur littered the area. It looked like a murder of crows had swooped down upon some unsuspecting animal and ripped its fur hide apart piece by piece until there was nothing left to pick at. He looked toward the fire and with a contemptuous sigh scraped some soil over the flame to die it down. The smoking, charred meat smelled unsavory at best and the thought of what it was, what it might be honestly made him a bit ill in the pit of his stomach. The animal had been decapitated and had its hind legs crudely torn off at the knee; its body was cast on a spit and had apparently been left untended for lack of interest or care. Gohan fanned away the smoke from his face before shaking his head. It was just the right size and shape. He couldn't tell his wife this. The fact that little Toto here went missing was already breaking her heart, if she heard that something, or rather, someone ate him—by the gods there would be hell and fire and brimstone to pay. He could already smell the sulfur.

"Boy, get out here and explain yourself." Gohan issued the command in a much grimmer tone than he was use to.

"Why do you bother calling to me when you know I am here?" The kid responded, his voice sounding from above in the low canopy trees.

The boy rustled around from above, causing the leaves to quiver. He dropped down, landing in a squat before standing up arrow straight. Gohan moved his light-bearing hand forward to get a better look at him and found himself no longer able to hide the disgust and utter disappointment on his face. He was not so angry at the death of his pet as he was of the crassness of the entire action. This kid knew exactly what he was doing and seemed to be completely remorseless about it. Hell, he did not even have the fortitude to man up immediately about it.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Gohan motioned his free hand towards the now dwindling fire and black hull of a carcass.

"I didn't do anything to your dog." The kid leaned up against the tree he descended from and turned his shoulders away from Gohan.

"I never said anything about my dog, kid." He wanted to hit this boy so badly that he could feel the tendons in his arms tighten as he spoke. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Seven shook his head and softly muttered "No."

"Then certainly you must take me for a fool?"

" . . .No." Seven slumped against the tree and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through flared nostrils.

"Then why do you torture—" He aggressively motioned behind him at the bloody fur carpet that was strewn about "and kill my pet after I had the good nature to invite you into my house and then bold-facedly lie to me about it before I can even ask?!"

He had to stop himself before he went on a tirade that undoubtedly would end in bad terms for the impudent little brat in front of him

The kid just looked at him. He stood there silently and simply stared at him like a blank mannequin. It was this kind of thing that drove Gohan mad. How could a person do something like this? Didn't he even feel anything? Could he acknowledge it?

"I don't understand you." Gohan chose his words carefully and said each one slowly while trying to keep his voice from wavering out of a combination of fury, frustration and disappointment.

"I don't think you want to." The boy chirped up before moving away from the tree and cradling his left arm while pacing to the side.

"If this is what you do then you're absolutely right, I don't want to understand you. I just want to know why you would do such a thing to my wife."

"I told you, I didn't do anything to your dog—" Seven paused and halted his pacing in front of the smoking remains of his fire.

Gohan barely had time to open his mouth to outright object before he continued.

"—but it's much easier to assume that the monster did it."

"Hey, I never would call you a—"

"But you just did."

Gohan quieted for a moment.

"Your wife came by here earlier."

"And?"

"She was looking for Lucy, calling and screaming and making a scene."

"Cut to the chase, kid." Gohan's patience was becoming threadbare.

"I found her."

"Lucy?"

"No, your wife."

The boy grinned and Gohan shot him a look that could have made flies drop out of midair.

"I saw your dog wander down a fox hole and went after it." Seven nodded toward the charred meat. "The dog's fine."

"So that's not—"

"Young foxes don't take kindly to dogs. I had to."

"What did you do with my dog then?"

Seven sighed "Must I be responsible for everything?"

"Answer me."

"I dropped it off at a house."

"Lucifer isn't at my house."

"A house. One of them a ways from here. Your pet is fine, they like dogs."

"How hard would it have been to take him home, really now?" Gohan shook his head and took a couple steps to the side. A part of him was swept with relief but an equal part was just as annoyed by this new revelation. There were less than a handful of people living around these parts, honestly, the kid would have to know which house he was going to.

"I didn't want her to see me with the dog."

"Videl would have—"

"Videl would have blamed me for taking the thing in the first place, just as you did."

"Look, kid—"

"So I'm a kid when it's convenient for you?"

Gohan stopped and brushed a hand through his hair, grabbing the back tuft in frustration "What's wrong with you, just tell me that."

"Why do you even bother asking that?"

"I've had it about up to here," Gohan gestured with his hands, "with your teenage angst bullshit. Now you can either step forward and tell me what's going on here or you can do me a favor and just give me some peace for once in my life."

Seven stared at him, perplexed. He looked to the ground then to Gohan and back before pulling his arms in close to his chest, although the left one sagged slightly to the side. Now that things were to the point he found himself at a loss for words. He was expecting one of two things to occur, the first being for Gohan to accept the whereabouts of his pet and leave. The second scenario, which he was far better versed in, was for Gohan to react combatively and be directly in his face and angry about the situation. No one had ever asked him to explain himself and to be honest; he would rather have dealt with a infuriated Gohan than a questioning one.

_I don't have time for this. _Gohan thought to himself as his patience were growing weary. It was not that he failed to care, it was the whole runaround game that was going on around his head and he had played enough this turn. It was far too dark and cold for him to be out here in the middle of the woods trying to do anything when all he wanted was a hot shower, a meal, and a decent night's sleep before he had to build up the courage to go back to work the next morning.

"I'm going to go pick up my dog, I assume he's at the house down the mountain. When you want to start giving me answers, you know where I am, but until then, just go and leave me be." He turned to leave and was about three seconds from bursting into midair when he heard a tiny peep from behind him.

"Yes?" Gohan didn't bother turning around lest his technique fail.

"Why was it always you?"

"I beg your pardon?" The question deserved a backwards glance.

"Why was it always you above all others that he is loyal to?" Seven started to back up, retreating further into the brush before Gohan motioned, beckoning him to stop.

"Piccolo? He and I go—"

"He hates me. . ." Gohan could practically feel the kid's voice cracking as he spoke; had this been any other occasion, the sound might have invoked pity.

"Hold on, Kid, he doesn't—"

"Because I'm not you."

Gohan heard something mentally snap deep within his skull. Miniscule fragments of the picture started to weave themselves together into something larger but still clouded. This was all starting to make sense.

"What makes you so special?"

This was something Gohan could win. "What makes you think I'm so special?"

"I've seen the way he idolizes you. He guards you like you're a treasure, he adores you in a way I've never seen in all the world."

"And what would you know about the world, kid?"

"Obviously more than you do if you can't see it too."

Gohan bit his lip, not for lack of a proper response or timing, but because he was afraid that if he answered too certainly or hastily that the kid would dart off into neverwhere. He didn't have the mind about him to chase after. If he played his cards right, he imagined that this boy would give him the answers he wanted and resolve some of his own questions as well.

"I guess I'll have to tell you then, if you can tell me what's wrong in the first place."

"Did you talk to Bulma today?" Gohan scowled at the change of subject but he had a good feeling about this.

"Maybe, what's it to you?"

"So you know what I am?"

"Kid." Gohan spoke slowly, so that Seven would pay attention "I don't think even you know what you are."

"I am your bandage."

"That—that doesn't even make sense!" And somehow he felt like cosmic irony was not on his side.

"It will." Gohan heard the brush and twigs bending and snapping under the kid's feet. The boy was squirming.

_This isn't fair._

He could sense it coming. A leap, skip and hop down the road he'd be back at home, having gained nothing but a tick-infested dog and a cold sweat for his efforts. This eerie sense of perceived premonition was going to be the end of him.

But something odd drew his attention from the stew of grim thoughts.

"They don't make organ factories like me without an insurance plan. Didn't you ever wonder why I have always been so close to you, why Piccolo keeps me, why I can barely stand the sight of you but am compelled to? It's time you begin."

In true fashion, Seven made himself scarce at the most inopportune of moments before Gohan had any amount of time to swallow, choke and react to the comment. It didn't make any sense. This is stupid, what good, how, why, what is the point and where did that come from how dare he say such stupid confusing, what?

It was much easier to be angry.

He would have ample time to think about things in the morning.

He could be his own relentless anger

* * *

Gohan arrived back at home with terrier in hand a full two hours after he had expected. Videl was sitting on the couch, watching TV with a book in her hand and a disinterested look on her face. She acknowledged him as he walked in the door but it was a far cry from her previous hysterical demeanor.

"Weren't you worried?" He asked, setting Lucifer on the floor only to watch him skitter to the kitchen for his food bowl.

"I knew everything would be fine once you saw to it. I made you some tea."

Gohan pursed his lips bitterly and started up the stairs to the shower.

"Aren't you going to stay up for awhile?"

"You never said thank you."

"What?"

"For going out in the middle of the night and rescuing your dog."

"You mean our dog, and I didn't think I had to."

"Mh." Gohan finished climbing the stairs and made his way into the master bedroom to grab a fresh set of sleeping clothes before washing up.

"Are you ok, hun?" Videl called from her position on the couch. Gohan assumed that her nose was still caught between the tube and the paper binding.

"Weird night." He yelled back down at her. This was the easiest way to communicate now.

"Oh really? Tell me about it."

Gohan turned on the water to the shower. "It wouldn't interest you."

Somehow, without listening, he could almost hear her reply.

'_You're right.'_

_

* * *

  
_

"Gohan, dear, don't forget to fix the fence before you go to work tomorrow. We can't have Lucy scratching up the floor. I'll put her in the pantry."


	11. And Around the Bend

"Hey listen cause I'll only say this once. I finally found the words that mean enough to me. Goodbye my soul, unquote." – Quote by Evans Blue

* * *

"Stop."

"I did."

A grunt followed by halfhearted a sigh and the rustling of dense fabric across leathery, calloused skin brought no ease to the situation they were in. The flicker of camp fire light and the crackle-pop of twigs and brush smoldering before daybreak made it seem like this was a quiet moment of bonding time between father and son, but that notion couldn't be any more wrong. They had been there all night, just the two of them, since Gohan made his way home. Piccolo resided on the far end of the fire he had made. He was not cold, but he knew if the kid didn't have any warmth then he would run off like a lizard grown too cold for its own skin.

The thoughts that boiled in his head could never be spoken. This was not because he was worried about the impact they would have, but because he never wanted the kid to know what he was thinking. He never wanted this kid in the first place, but the parasite had dug its claws in.

At first it was necessity and guilt that bound them. He was handed a sickly kid with the hopes that he could make something more out of it. Hell, Gohan had moved on and Earth was apparently wiped off the inter-stellar map of places in need of cosmic villains, so having a new challenge did not seem as bad as it could have been. There was a chance the kid could have made a decent sparring partner, but such never happened. The damn thing stuck around and did nothing for the better part of a decade. What a useless, inglorious waste of a life. The kid had no fight in him, no soul, not even a desire to do anything- completely and utterly worthless in his book.

He wanted to let the kid go, to push him aside to some corner of the earth and leave him there. In all honesty, he figured that the boy would be happier in that scenario and he was probably right. But every time he built up the gumption to do so, the damn kid made himself convenient, very convenient.

It took fifteen years, but I figured it out. If only I knew back then. . .

They never tell you these things about kids when you get them. There are no instruction manuals or rulebooks that are accurate. Bulma never told me any more than she absolutely had to and lied even through that. The kid's not mine and he never was. We're not even remotely the same species. People say that the kid looks like me. He has a harsh face like me, but even that is a common trait among beings like us. High cheekbones, pronounced jaw, severe teeth, you can count a dozen other species in this world alone that share this looks and she tries to convince me that because we are similar in this way we must be related. But I believed her. I believed her without the necessary doubt.

'He's a part of us all' she said with her eyes wide and tear stained. She's the best damn actor I've come across; I'll give her that.

He was never a part of us, not even Bulma has that kind of power to draw up life from nothingness. The kid isn't a chimera, he's every bit as alien as I am to this world. In fact, that's the link between us. There's a handful of whatever he is left in the universe. Not so much that he's among a rare and valuable breed as much as evolution never smiled upon his bumbling race. Nameks evolved to live under the twin suns and adapt to whatever environment that was thrown at them. The kid's people hardly changed from their primordial state; violent and skittish, vile creatures that hide away from the world and skulk about at night lest their flesh burn like a newborn lamb's. They are fragile things that ultimately meet fragile ends, yet notoriously difficult to kill if you don't know how. Drag them out in the daylight. Their fair eyes can't take the sunlight and their skin can't protect them. They'll be blinded and charred before the fight has even begun.

And they'll sink like a lead weight in water.

I've thrown the kid in before and watched him panic and struggle to breech the surface. No matter how hard he tries and how accurate his form is, he cannot do it. Whatever they are, their bodies are too dense to float. Most of his species smells like an abomination against nature, but not my kid. He's not afraid of water when it's shallow, even though it seems that the fear should have been built into him from the start. He scrapes his skin to remove the sweat and oil. I always made sure he did because their skin is their worst weakness and greatest strength. He's toxic, painfully so. Even to me.

When I first started training him, I discovered that pleasant little secret. His sweat leaves a fine powder on his skin when it dries. I thought it was an allergy or reaction, but it wiped right off on my fingertips. I thought nothing of it and worked the dust between my fingers before brushing it off on my gi. It took some time, perhaps a half hour, but my skin became discolored as though I had crushed charcoal bricks and it ached dully, like a bruise not quite healed. It cleared away in a few days.

Heh, looking back on it, I should have put the pieces together. I kept training the kid. He showed some promise in it, but never enough to be great. Through the training, my hands turned rotten; black and purple and covered in bleeding sores. I thought the damn things were going to fall off. It felt like hot embers under the skin, seeping all the way through the bones. I stopped his training not because I wanted to, but because my body refused to let me. My hands couldn't close anymore, not to grip, not in a fist. Useless.

I knew it had to be the kid. I had been in this area for as long as I care to remember and nothing like this had happened before. My first thought was to see Bulma and demand to know what was going on, but given how she had used every snake-tongued excuse in the book to avoid telling me anything even remotely useful, I took my second option, Dende. And I took the kid with me.

Dende wasn't hesitant to fix my problem, but he was more than weary of the kid. It was strange, the young Namek usually loves visitors, especially younger ones, but not my kid. I'm not sure if it was because I told him the circumstances under which my hands started rotting off or if it was because of some genuine sense of distrust. He said the kid was sick. I nodded silently, half-way expecting Dende to work his magic and be off with it. He said he could remedy the problem; again, I nodded, becoming agitated.

Then he asked me if he should heal the boy. I was cut short. It never occurred to me that maybe Dende didn't want this kid to get better.

I told him to do it.

He didn't fix the kid right away. He told me to leave and get some rest, that the kid would stay on the lookout with him. I left as was suggested and returned by the end of the week. Upon my return, there was a makeshift camp out on the far rim of the lookout. It was composed of a simple tent with some cushions inside of it. I thought that the kid might have insisted on sleeping outdoors, he was use to it. Turns out that whatever the kid had on his skin rubbed off inside the lookout on everything he touched. Floors, furniture, drapes, bedding, all the fine frilled things in the house, contaminated. Mr. Popo was the first to catch wind of it. Dende described it as a burning rash that seeps into the skin and eats away the bones underneath. Whatever the contamination was, they rid the building of it and put the kid outside.

Dende told me then to get rid of the kid. To take him somewhere remote where he couldn't spread it. For a Kami, he obviously isn't that observant, or he would have seen the others like this kid already on the planet and had probably been here for some time. Or he saw it and never told me . . . These creatures already did as Dende suggested and keep to the deepest, darkest nowheres they can find and stay there amongst themselves. A few roam into areas with people in them but none of these humans seem to notice. I'm guessing Bulma either found this kid on the streets or managed to produce him in captivity. I shudder to think about the latter.

These creatures make you bleed. That's what they defend themselves with. They're strong, stronger on average than most humans here; they have all the claws and teeth and bad temper that the rest of the animals have, but they're not exceptional in any way. They are too heavy on their feet, clumsy and quick to tire. That's why they don't fight back for too long, they try to get as close to you as they can get, touching you, wiping their skin across yours like some writhing worm in your palm. It's disgusting. They won't try to save themselves in battle, so long as they can infect you, they won't even care as long as you take the sickness back to your home as a present. Perhaps that's why there are so few of them here.

In the end, they are stupid animals, too stupid to even survive properly.

I've seen it happen before. One of those human pets was playing with the boy, licking his palms and face. The kid loved it until I made him watch. The animal whined and cried, pawing at the corners of its mouth, wiping blood everywhere. If the oil on the kid's skin is wiped on exposed flesh, it'll irritate the area for days upon a time. A chemical burn. Brief contact with him is generally harmless because he's one of the cleaner ones, but even I have the same reaction to him, which is why I stay away. If you ingest it, however, it'll eat away at the insides like a slow burning fuse. The lips will burn, then the tongue and throat all the way down to the stomach if you taste enough of it. The kid wanted to help the mutt, to do something, but I held him back. Don't think me cruel. I do not delight in the suffering of animals, such matters rarely bother me, but I had to make the boy see- see what he does. He watched the entire thing from start to finish. The animal writhed and sputtered and died hours later, bleeding out from its core.

But I had to break him of it, I really did. He never lost that look on his face. That glazed over half-dead horror. Others say it's a blank look, that there's nothing to it. They wouldn't know.

"You will leave her alone."

"What?" The Boy seemed utterly bemused.

I paused and looked up at his face. I hadn't realized that I spoke my thoughts aloud. He never bothered to make eye contact anyway.

"The girl." I never meant to follow that up with a reply, but something in me beckoned it.

"Gohan's daughter?" He glanced over to me with one eye squinted slightly like I was speaking of silly things.

"No. Don't you even mention her."

He turned face toward the ground, "You meant the other one."

Sometimes I hate how this kid just seems to know what I want to say, but this wasn't one of those times. It can be easier this way to let him fill in the blanks and confess himself. I worry at times that he can read my mind. It is a stupid fear but one I rightfully possess. If he only knew of the things I think . . .

"You are never going to let me forget about it, are you?"

"You don't deserve to forget." It was an automatic response; I wanted him to tell me what he was thinking without him trying to conceal his thoughts behind feigned ignorance. Attacking him outright will do it.

Something in the kid's gut twisted in pain. You could see it plainly in him. I stuck the needle in the soft spot and broke it off.

"How many people have you killed and you won't find forgiveness in me for one?"

I cannot respond to a question like that. I know I'm guilty. I _know_ it. But it is not the same. I am not that demon king and I am not that ruthless any longer. I haven't killed anyone purposefully in well over a decade. It's pointless to even—

"It was an accident." He said, barely whispering as though he didn't quite want me to catch it.

Accident my ass. 'Accidents' like that don't happen. When you know what you are getting into and know what will happen, you don't simply rush in and do it!

"The only accident you had was getting caught." My voice was stern as though I was reprimanding him for a crime yet unpunished.

I remembered when I first saw them after it happened. I followed the trail of blood and hair.

"She was the only one who would talk to me."

The only one?

"You spoke to the others?" I didn't know about this.

He shook his head. Then what?

"You only spoke to me when you wanted something, still do." The kid spoke like a child being scorned.

"I told you to stay away from her. You deliberately disobeyed me."

"I didn't want to be alone anymore. I never meant to hurt her, I tried to help."

Creatures like us must learn to be lonely, kid.

"Get use to it."

The kid gently bit the corner of his bottom lip like he was thinking of something he couldn't say.

"Out with it." I demanded, I didn't have time for his contemplations.

"Why do you hide me away the world and even from yourself?"

"We've been through this before."

"I know." His shoulders slumped.

"Then stop asking."

"Just once more?" It sounded as though he was going to cry, that dry-throated squeak of a voice. I knew he wasn't, but I hate that sound all the same.

"You're not like the other beings on this planet, Boy. You're different and the world can't handle you." It was the same pointless excuse I gave him every time.

He knows he's toxic. He knows what he can do to people by being around them for too long but he insists that nothing is wrong, that he will be fine and no one will get hurt.

He obeyed me for years, never straying out of eyesight, always hoping to win my good graces long enough for me to let him go explore. What he doesn't realize yet is that this will not simply go away. He's carrying out a life sentence and I've been entrusted to see it through till the bitter end.

But it's almost over now. Whatever the kid is, his kind doesn't last too long. The boy has a couple years before he burns out. I doubt he can feel it yet. I hope he can't.

"You're afraid I'll hurt Gohan, aren't you?" He spoke so quickly I nearly missed what he said.

"Stay away from him." I could feel the spit catch in my throat as I hissed the words at him through clenched teeth.

If the kid even so much as thought about getting too close…

"He looks for me," I felt that, the arrogance creeping into his voice. He had something and was going to rub it in so subtly that I might even doubt it was anything at all.

I can't reply to him because I know that I will not hold my tongue this time. It's too close.

"Only because he can't find you, Piccolo," The kid finished his thought. The way he cuts things off in the middle and resumes them always dug underneath my skin "why do you hide from him?" The Boy seemed almost happy now.

His happiness shouldn't enrage me the way it does but whenever something strikes him as amusing, nothing good ever seems to come of it.

"Is it because you're afraid to tell him why I'm here?"

"Enough!" I am done with this now.

I unfolded myself from the ground and turned to leave.

"How long do you really think he'll go on believing that I'm here because we're playing father and son? He's not a stupid man."

I could hear the bolts and gears grinding away in that boy's little mind. I turned my head slightly but not enough to completely look back at him. He had my attention and he knew it and no matter how much I feigned disinterest he knew I'd be listening for what he said.

"I know why I'm here now. I figured it out." He sounds so quiet and reserved now and it bothers me. Somehow it would be more comforting if he spat the words out in my face in contempt.

"And why's that, kid?" I tried to put him down, my tone suggesting his new revelations were as worthless as his thick hide.

"Because Gohan needs me and you need Gohan, so you keep me here to make sure I stay for him."

"What possible use could anyone have for you, kid?"

"He doesn't get sick."

I turned just enough to look him in those sickening blue eyes but didn't respond. He found out?

The boy straightened, a tiny crease of a smile forming. "I don't make him sick when he's near me. He's special . . .You didn't want me to know, did you?"

"It's meaningless." I brushed the comment off as quickly as possible hoping he'd drop it, but I knew he wouldn't.

"I wonder," He paused again, this time looking more thoughtful than the hot air in his head would allow for on a regular basis. "If it's so insignificant then why wouldn't you tell me that he's immune to me, that I can be around him without hurting anyone."

I hate when this kid thinks and all the spindled webs he crosses along the way.

"You know you can't be around people without someone getting hurt."

"Even you?" He always had that child-like innocence when asking questions for which he hoped the answer was 'no'.

"Even me." I confirmed and started to leave again. I just wanted to go and let my mind be at peace.

"But that's not why he's special, is it, Piccolo?"

Incessant child. I kept walking. I could have flown, but then he would have pursued me and asked more questions with greater fervor later. I felt the pressure behind my eyes start to throb.

"Something bad is going to happen to Gohan, something you need me around for. I think I know what it is." He spoke quietly to _make me listen_.

"Hmf, is that so, kid?" Gohan once said I was a patient man when I wanted to be. Now was not one of those times and I could feel the muscles in my hands begin to clench.

"His heart's going to break." I could hear the kid fidgeting around in the grass, nervous twitches for a nervous kid.

Why did this boy always word things so . . .stupidly? I'd be more upset if he wasn't half right, but I will ignore that for the time being.

"You know, you can hear it too. His heart flutters sometimes." I have heard it. I can feel every beat, but his actual heart wasn't what worried me.

"Humans have those problems, it's nothing." I'm lying through my teeth; I know damn well it's not simply nothing.

"But he's not human. Not saiyan either. He's something different—like me." The kid cracked his knuckles after he finished the sentence. I am about ten seconds away from beating his face into a horror show.

"Out with it." I growled as the pounding in my skull increased tenfold.

"When the day comes, you'll put me down to save him." He said the words with such an eerie calmness, as though he had been thinking about this _too_ much.

I never stopped walking away with my back turned. I couldn't allow myself to let him see me grimace. He was right in some ways. Dead right. But I had no intentions of telling him more than I already had by not responding to him at all.

I always knew I'd have to kill the kid someday but I hoped that he would never have to know too. I continued on my way through the woods. The time for rest was long past due and something inside of me ached knowing that the rest my body desperately craved would simply not come at this point. It'd be May soon and his time is almost up.

* * *

"Gohan"

The sweet voice drifted in and out of his ear like a feather in a current.

"Gohan."

He rolled over, pulling the covers up to his chin and pinching his face tight with disagreement at being bothered at such an ungodly hour.

Videl sighed and pushed on Gohan's side, attempting to rouse him from his slumbers. "Wake up, there's breakfast."

"Is there bacon?" Gohan responded without so much as moving or cracking open an eye.

"No, there's toast and jam. Do you want bacon?"

"Bacon would be nice."

"Then get dressed." Videl removed herself from the side of the bed and pattered down towards the stairs at a leisurely pace at best.

Gohan flipped the covers off the top half of his body, exposing his bare flesh to the cool air. It was the only way he could manage to pry himself out of the perfectly comfortable bed some days. He sat up, noting the number of times his back popped as he did so. With a groan, he straightened himself out and scooted out of bed with all the grace of a pouting second grader who didn't want to go to school.

He managed to get dressed, albeit in semi-dirty clothes. He never counted anything he only wore for a few hours a day as 'dirty', and jeans were never dirty simply because they're jeans. They don't get 'dirty', you just wear them.

He plodded down the stairs to the smell of real bacon frying in the pan. It made his heart race because he had fully been expecting that microwave bacon abomination that was only acceptable if you were living in a college dormitory.

"Smells good, hun." Gohan piped with an extra bit of pep in his voice. It felt like it was going to be a good day.

Videl glanced over at him and shook her head.

"What's with the shirtless caveman look?" She occupied herself with the skillet, avoiding looking at Gohan as much as possible.

"I thought you liked the caveman look." He couldn't help but to grin as he moved to lean on the counter right next to the stove.

"It was nice about five years ago." Videl paused just long enough for the comment to sink in before she continued "The bacon will be done in a few minutes, take a seat."

Gohan, utterly put off, did as he was told and slowly shifted towards the dining table, all the while silently mouthing the words _'five years ago'_ like he had a mouth full of acid. When Videl set the plate of food in front of him, he didn't so much as give it a second glance. She sat across from him with her single slice of toast, no butter or jam, and glass of soymilk that was too tannish-brown for Gohan to touch with a ten-foot pole. She nibbled lightly at the edges of her toast and sipped her milk a bit too daintily if you asked him.

"What did you mean by that?" Gohan stared straight at her and she didn't even bother to lift her eyes from her plate.

"Mean by what? Finish your food hun, it's going to get cold."

"You know what I mean, don't play cute." Something in his voice must have caught Videl's attention because she stared him right back in the eyes.

He could damn near feel the subtle muscle twitches in her face as she was hesitating to respond to him.

"You've gotten older, Gohan. It's just starting to show a little is all." And she went back to her nibbling and sipping as though nothing had been said.

Gohan looked down at himself. What little hair he had on his chest was still coal black, his muscles were still well defined, not nearly what they had been a few years back, but he was still in shape and to be quite honest he though he looked good. His thoughts quickly turned to how Videl's cleavage had sagged over the years and how he had the good decency not to comment on it even if he had noticed. Over the years he had started to come to the realization that his wife could be a real bitch when she wanted to, which lately was more times than not.

"Why are you so hostile to me all of the sudden?"

"Aren't you going to eat that bacon? I made it for you." Finishing her toast, she wiped the tips of her fingers on her napkin before brushing off the corners of her mouth.

"Will you please look at me while I'm talking to you?" His temper was becoming agitated with this nonsense.

Videl threw the napkin down in a careless motion and intertwined her fingers together to rest her chin on the 'table' it made. She made things seem so pleasant that it made Gohan's stomach churn. They sat in silence for a few painful moments in which his questioning gaze met her utterly flippant one. She didn't even care, did she? He wondered how she could be so nonchalant about things until he drew the conclusion that she had made a profession out of doing just that—not caring. How long had things been this way? Had they always been like this? When did things become so—

"Cold." She said the words with a decidedly crisp edge; he could almost hear them crunching between her veneers.

"What?" He found himself asking that question too often lately.

"Your food's gotten cold. It's no good now." She shifted in her seat as thought she was preparing to stand.

"It's perfectly fine, thank you very much. Now if you would stop avoiding me—"

"Let me take the plate for you. I'll save it so you can finish your meal later." Videl moved to grab the plate, which Gohan quickly snatched out of her reach.

"Stop worrying about the goddamn food and focus on our marriage, will you?!"

She retracted her grasp and pressed her lips into a line in such a way that it made the faintest little lines appear. She was thinking; Gohan could almost hear the gears clocking into place as he sat there, forlorn plate of bacon in hand, staring up into those miserable baby blue's that gazed with such contempt back at him.

"Well," She started recomposing her demeanor "What suddenly sparks your concern for 'our marriage'?" Videl picked up her own plate and took it to the sink, effectively turning her back on Gohan.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Exasperated as he was, Gohan had the decency to remain seated, lest this turn into an all-out screaming war.

"Don't play that act with me, Gohan, we all know when it came down to it you always picked work over us, always!"

Gohan scoffed and shook his head. "Did it never occur to you that I work as hard as I do to keep you in the lifestyle you've grown accustomed to?"

"I didn't marry you for your _teacher's salary_, Gohan!"

"And you wouldn't have me without it!" He replied without missing a beat.

They sat in strained silence, each one staring with narrow eyes and chapped lips. Gohan knew how this would end. No matter what route the conversation took, he would inevitably loose. He knew Videl didn't keep him around for money. What money? He never actually had to work a day in his life because he married her, but he refused to live off the fame that his father-in-law so readily flaunted. That was blood money.

"Don't you have anything to say?" He was egging her on and they both knew it.

"At this point, I don't think there's anything left to say." It was subtle, but her inflection had changed.

"We've barely even started talking." Deep down, a part of him was burning for this conflict, like it was something he had been waiting for years to happen.

"Gohan, I'm tired, can we continue this another time?" She rested her forehead in her palm, as though suffering from a headache.

"If you would rather avoid our problems instead of talking about them, fine." The words left a strange taste in his mouth that rang somewhere between blunt satisfaction and being an asshole. He liked it.

"You! My problem is you, Gohan, it's you!" Her burst was so sudden and rash that Gohan didn't even have the time to fully comprehend what happened.

Those blue eyes of hers paralyzed Gohan. He always knew that if he stared too long at them, he wouldn't ever be able to move. Even now when they were bloodshot and weary, they had an effect on him. The main difference between times past and now was that instead of feeling his heart pitter-patter in excitement, he felt like a miserable pile of crap. And he didn't even believe he was in the wrong. He opened his mouth to speak but the look on Videl's face silenced him. She looked tired. Not the kind of tired one gets from being physically weary, but the haggard, lifeless tired that comes from having too much happen to you too soon.

Whatever happened to his tough as nails tomboy with choppy hair and bruised knuckles?

"I—" With a solitary look Videl seized the words from his very throat and replaced them with cotton and sawdust.

"I'm tired of arguing with you, Gohan. At this point in my life I'm over it. I'm just over it."

"Then don't!" The declaration rendered Videl in a thoughtful, though embittered, lapse of speech.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her mouth opening so slowly that her lips stuck together before ultimately pulling apart. Gohan could feel the flush in her cheeks and hear the strain of her tendons pulling taught under her skin. Had they been sixteen again, she would have decked him in the face. But they weren't. They would never be sixteen again and no matter how hard Gohan wished for it, things would not turn back time.

"It doesn't matter anymore." She said after a long period of time had passed.

She waved her hand as though to dismiss the subject. Gohan could see the tears forming at the corner of her eyes and the slight tremble her cheeks had as she spoke.

"Why?" So baffled was he by her shift from bitter to angry to forlorn acceptance that he wouldn't help but be agape.

"Because I still love you." Videl turned away from Gohan to face the sink. If she had kept looking at him, she would have started crying no matter how hard she bit her lip and tried not to.

Gohan stared hard at the floor before coming to face the back of her head. She had done her hair differently and he hadn't noticed until now.

"Then why do you treat me like this?" He sounded weak, but he wanted an honest answer.

Videl made a noise that was somewhere between a choked sob and a sarcastic laugh. Gohan guessed that a little of both factored in there.

"You ignore me, you don't pay attention and you never appreciate anything I do! If anything you treat me like a convenient burden and I don't understand why."

"That's not true!" He stood and yelled at her back, pointing an accusatory finger for all it was worth.

"Yes it is."

"Oh, just because I forget your birthday or don't go to a party with you I'm suddenly a bad husband?"

"When you stop caring for so long that it becomes contagious—" Her voice drifted off to the corner of the room where Gohan's stomach simultaneously dropped.

"Are . . .Are you saying this is my fault?" His posture relaxed; slumped, but not defeated.

"It takes two, you know that," She spoke as though she was chewing on her words "When you stopped caring about me, I tried, I tried Gohan, to get your attention back. I changed the way I looked, I was attentive, constantly asking you what was wrong, if you were okay, I wanted to do things with you and to be excited and happy and to make you love me again but I couldn't. No matter how hard I worked, you were never there."

He honestly hurt while thinking about that. It was too much and the words kept playing around his head, ricocheting inside his skull like flies desperately trying to escape from the car's window. Was it true? It couldn't be true; he wouldn't do something like that. He was a good father and a great husband and he gave his wife everything she wanted and, and, and, and it all meant nothing? It didn't mean one damned thing. This wasn't about what he had done. It was about what he had failed to do. Things were starting to make more sense; not in a 'moment of clarity' way, but fitting together nonetheless.

Videl hadn't gone anywhere; it was him who had gone far, far away.

"I'm sorry." Gohan confessed albeit softly.

"No you're not." Her voice had become ever more strained.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't lie to me." She covered her forehead and eyes with her hand.

"I'm sorry."

"Gohan, I don't have time for this!" She spun around to face him with bloodshot eyes and mascara that had started smearing around the edges.

"Can we fix this?" He concentrated on his feet as he spoke.

"I don't know."

"I love you, Videl."

"I don't know." She answered.


	12. Leads to a Place Forbidden

"Kiss the boy and make him feel this way." _Quote_ by Evans Blue

* * *

She would have rather been inside watching movies at noon but she doubted that there would be a prettier day for tending her garden. It wasn't really a garden unless a withering tomato plant, two bell pepper sprigs, a zucchini leaf and half a dozen string bean plants counted as a full-fledged garden. Regardless of what it was called, she found herself on her knees pulling weeds that were outshining her garden tenfold. She was not the pleasant sort of gardening housewife and she didn't pretend to be. Before last summer she hadn't set foot on a patch of dirt with the intention of growing anything. To be honest, she still didn't plan on anything actually coming from her withered tumble of disappointed seedlings, but it was pretty to think otherwise. She could still have an impact on something.

It was an act of change. She bitterly refused to spend another morning crying over her coffee like some sniveling, worthless child. Deep down, buried beneath years of self-deprecation and dinners spent alone, she was stronger than that. If only she could have known then what she knows know.

Things would have happened differently. She would have her fairytale.

The argument with Gohan had happened two days ago and they hadn't spoken since. Gohan left for work late for the past few morning and when at home he kept to himself in his study. She tried not to think too hard about it. The issue had been plaguing her especially at night and perturbed her to the point of tears. Her mind had been made up for some time now. She was going to divorce him. It wasn't for a lack of love. She loved Gohan and always would. When they were first married, she could have sworn they were soulmates. Never would it have occurred to her that they could hurt each other so.

It started happening not too long after Pan was born. Gohan was scared and overjoyed at the same time. He kept promising her that he would always be there and never leave like his father did to him. He lied. Gohan was physically present but not always there emotionally for his family. It was like a piece of him had broken off and was left in a drawer to gather dust. He could retrieve it from the drawer, blow it off and make things good again, but that little piece was growing stale and starting to crinkle at the edges. She would ask him why he looked so sad and he would stretch out that broad smile of his and say he was 'remembering' things. That was fine. Everyone knows that he didn't have it easy growing up, but times have changed. Everything is more permanent now. There are no more great battles, no victories to be won nor enemies to defeat. There is only the here and now and Gohan didn't seem to want to be a part of it.

That was what hurt the most. Was his life now not good enough for him? Was he bored or did he not care anymore? Idly, she wondered if Gohan would be happier if he could go back to the time where there were real villains and heroes.

But she was not without distraction. Just last night before Gohan had returned from work the neighbors that lived downhill had stopped by. They were the dull younger couple, whose terribly generic name she had forgotten in light of more important things like coffee and the news. Regardless, they were charming enough. They only chatted for a moment; pleasantries were exchanged before the real matter was addressed. Their dog had gone missing less than a week ago and they were still looking for her. She sympathized with them, as her own Lucy had been lost before, but she hadn't seen or heard any sign of the missing dog. When they were about to leave, the wife said something that had stuck in the back of Videl's mind. Apparently someone had been stalking around these parts at night. The person was described as more of a phantom than an actual person—a large figure with broad shoulders and gleaming eyes that were darker than midnight, a specter that moved seamlessly through the trees without a sound. The couple seemed worried about it and informed her that they were heading straight home and that she could call them if she ever needed to. It was a well-known fact that Videl was by herself most of the time. She thanked them for their kindness and brushed off their warning for the moment. There was something so sickeningly happy and pastel about them that she could only tolerate moments at a time in their presence. It pained her to be so far removed from other more interesting people as she endured life on this desolate mountainside. The couple's words fell to the wayside. After all, she knew what kind of things were hidden in the woods by now and firmly held the belief that if she didn't bother it, it wouldn't bother her. Thus far, things had worked out nicely.

Withdrawing from her reverie, Videl dug her trowel into the dirt and scooped out a clump of weeds that had stubbornly tried to take over her tomato vines. She worked the plant in her palm for a moment before a knitting her brow in disdain. With a sudden, swift movement, she cast the weeds, dirt and all over the fence into the woods. The small vent of frustration did her well and she resumed her tidying.

She was about to finish up with the tomatoes and move onto the raggedy mess of beans when she heard something soft land on the ground beside her. It was the clump of weeds she had tossed moments ago. A knot caught in her throat as she picked up the battered plant. Suddenly she found herself wondering about the supposed phantom that's been haunting around. It was silly. Still, the thought that someone was watching her and responding to her when she didn't know or see who it was unsettled her to say the least.

"Hello?" Videl called, not expecting a response.

Something moved, a shadow for all she knew. All the horror movies she ever watched had warned her about this situation. She was strong enough to handle herself, but she knew better than to go walking into the woods chasing ghosts.

"I don't appreciate being watched!" She spoke with her best mom voice to reprimand the intruder.

"Sorry." A soft male voice called back.

Videl squinted as hard as she could to get a glimpse of whoever that was. She wasn't expecting the person to sound so…unimposing?

"Who is that? You're on my property and I demand that you show yourself at once!"

The person moved so that his figure was visible in the shadows. He seemed too small to be the mysterious presence described to her earlier. She suspected (rather hoped) that this was some lost traveler trying to find a way home or something equally harmless. If there was one thing Videl hated it was that in parts of the forest, it was always dark no matter what time of day it was.

"If I do, are you doing to hit me with that spade?" The person sounded amused, almost like he was laughing at her.

"Well I just might if you don't buck up and get out here!" Her voice was joking but the threat was still viable.

The man moved closer at such a slow rate that Videl swore she would die of old age before he finally got within view. When he finally stepped into the light, Videl could have sworn it was a zombie or something else long since dead with pale skin with dark circles around the eyes, scraggly hair and a skeletal resemblance. He was bare from the torso up which made him look more sunken in and deathly. Upon further inspection, and much to her relief, it was just that kid Gohan was so taken with. And he looked like hell.

"Oh, it's you. Why didn't you say so?" She feigned congeniality and returned to her gardening, always keeping one eye on the kid.

Something about him didn't quite settle with her.

"Mrhh, do you even know my name?" He was moving about like he wasn't comfortable in his skin.

"Of course I do, you're Piccolo's kid."

"I do have a name." He grinned his crooked grin; Videl would have grimaced if she were not more of a lady.

"Well what is it?" She had heard it mentioned before but didn't think she'd ever have to use it. It wasn't like too many people came around.

He glanced away thoughtfully as though his name was written on a particularly interesting tree or rock. Videl noticed that his arm was wrapped in a makeshift bandage but thought nothing of it.

"Don't tell me you can't remember your name?" She laughed and shifted her gaze toward her garden to pluck out a few spindles of grass from her beans.

She saw the kid move closer out of the corner of her eye. The way he moved was suspicious. He only seemed to approach quickly when she was busy looking somewhere else.

"It was a joke," She said as she turned to gaze directly at him." Now would you mind telling me what brings you out here today? She was curt.

"I was watching you." The kid flexed his fingers and it sounded like the joints were popping back into place as he did.

"Obviously. I don't appreciate it very much, especially from someone I hardly know. I'll ask you once more, what were you looking for. If you can't give me a straight answer then I'll have to ask you to leave."

"I can hear you crying at night. I wanted to see if you were hurt."

Videl found herself a bit taken by the answer. In a way, she thought it was kind of sweet yet extremely unnerving. How long had this kid been stalking around her home without her knowledge? Was he the one doing this to other people?

"That's very kind, but I assure you I'm doing just fine." She tried to hint that she wanted him to politely leave, not because she was particularly offended by his presence, but because she was wary of him.

"No you aren't." He said it as a matter of fact.

"Excuse me but I think I know how I am and am not feeling." Her cheeks flushed vividly as she was growing impatient.

"You were crying this morning before you came out here. I can hear you for a ways out here. You're very loud."

She thought about scolding the kid for being invasive. He should know better than to bother in the affairs of others. The question was did he know better? Did he know anything? Then again, what did she know about him? For the life of her, she couldn't remember his name or how old he was or even for how long he had been out here. This kid was like a mystery wrapped in a wet napkin that was bound by soggy noodles. He never seemed terribly interesting, but was just enough of a curiosity to warrant a peek.

"You haven't seen me be loud yet." Videl choked out a smile.

"Seven."

"What?"

"My name is Seven."

"Oh wow, you're a little late on that one, aren't you?"

He did not seem half as amused as she was.

"Well then, Seven, I appreciate your concern, but I really am fine, it's just that time of the month, you know."

"I don't know. That's why I came to see."

She tried to stifle the laugh but it couldn't be helped. The look on Seven's face only made her laugh harder. The kid captured a look of startled desperation perfectly.

"You're a funny one." She finally said after collecting herself.

"How am I funny? You're the one laughing."

"That's what I mean. You don't quite get it, do you?"

"Apparently not."

"Look, how old are you, kiddo?"

"Fifteen. You're doing it wrong."

"Wait . . .What does that even mean?"

"You tend your plants wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"It's too cold here for those plants. They won't do well."

"And what do you know about plants?" She scoffed at him and busied herself with fluffing her diminishing tomato leaves into something more respectable.

"I told you."

"Don't get smart with me, young man." She almost missed being able to use this tone of voice. Almost.

"Take them inside. You'll remember to water them that way. It's warm enough."

"It's my garden, it's staying where it is."

"Fine."

Videl sighed. She could tell that this kid was going to stand there and stare until she did something. She glanced over at him. The kid was fidgeting with the improvised bandage on his arm. It looked like he tried to fix the wound with a scrap of fabric. Whatever the case, the injury was beginning to weep. Videl cringed. She noticed he was staring pointedly past her at the plants.

"Is it really bothering you _that_ much?" She didn't specify a topic to see what he thought was implied.

"No" Came the simple reply. She nodded, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"Then why bring it up?"

Seven stilled his fidgeting and looked away in contemplation. Whatever it was, he seemed to be thinking about it more than the question required.

"Don't hurt yourself." She commented playfully.

"No promises." He shot back.

"At least you're talking now." Videl grinned, "You hardly made a peep when I last saw you."

"I was afraid." He responded a bit quieter than before.

"Of what?" She couldn't imagine what a creature that looked like that would be afraid of.

"Both of you. Was it Gohan?" The kid returned to his normal, fidgety state but seemed rather perturbed by something on his back and was scratching at it feverishly.

"What? What do you mean? Is something wrong?" She dusted off her hands on her pant legs and stood up to get a better look at him. This boy didn't seem capable of deciding what was going on.

"It's too early for me to be out here." Seven added agitatedly as he started stepping back towards the trees nervously. The tips of his claws had a light red sheen on them from where he had scratched through his skin.

"Stop right there!" Videl bellowed loud enough to stun the kid from retreating any further. Seven looked at her with a dumb, worried expression and stayed rooted to the ground.

"Come here" She added and motioned to the patch of earth in front of her.

Seven took a few steps towards her then stopped and started walking backwards as though he was unsure of whether he was coming or going. He seemed hopelessly torn between the two.

Shaking her head, Videl gave one final dusting off to her pants and walked toward him. She didn't trust him but she couldn't bear to watch such a confused and miserable looking creature continue on unaided. The kid was desperately looking in one direction then the other as thought he were trying to decide the best possible route of escape. To her surprise, he didn't budge, not even when she was mere feet away.

"Are you going to cooperate now?" Videl asked, placing her hands on her hips for confidence more than emphasis. She was shaking slightly.

"I should go." The words were groaned under his breath as he continued scratching at his back as though a flea circus had setup an impromptu camp there.

"Not before I see what's wrong."

She extended her arm in attempt to grab the kid's shoulder and turn him around to see the damage that was done. Before she could, Seven flinched and drew back, hunching his shoulders, wrinkling his nose and growling.

Growling?

Videl stood there baffled for a moment, questioning whether or not she was just growled at by some know-it-all stalker kid. If anything, she should be the one growling at him for creeping around here like he owned the place! What gave him the right?

"Wait just a minute now," She gathered a breath, preparing to unleash the storm. "Who do you think you are? You don't growl at people who are trying to help you out of the goodness of their hearts! You're the one that was so intent on—"

Seven sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

Videl's lip curled in amusement as she gazed at the boy before her. Normally such a reaction would have prompted more anger out of her. It should have, given her current state. There was something about that small reaction that reminded her of happier times fighting with Pan over how she was dressed, the little boys she hung out with, her music and hair and television shows. Pan would sigh and roll her eyes and quietly accept the ravings of her mother or take the other path and fight back just as fervently as Videl herself would if she were still a teenager.

"Let me see." She said almost wistfully as though she were talking to a child who had scraped his knee and was desperately covering it from the sting of antiseptic.

Begrudgingly, Seven turned around exposing his back to Videl. His shoulders had a distinctive pinkish-red sunburned flush. The scratches on his back, while superficial much to Videl's relief, were bleeding quite a bit and matting in the strip of hair that followed his spine. It was nothing that a quick wipe down with disinfectant wouldn't fix. She finally realized what he meant when he said it was too early for him to be out. It brought a dry smile to her lips. The tiny imperfections and weaknesses made him seem all the more human.

"We can fix that. Just keep your hands away and I'll be right back. Lets take a look at that arm of yours too." She had been waiting for a reason to use the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink. She had bandages and gauze and every manner of helpful item—just in case.

"Don't," Seven looked at Videl from past his shoulder. He was quiet; almost too quiet for a creature of his size an appearance. It startled her.

"That's nonsense, you're clearly hurt and it'll only take a moment to fix things up." She took cautious steps toward the house, making sure not to turn her back to Seven.

"You're lonely."

Videl stopped in her tracks. She tried to force a smile but her lips twitched in resistance, managing only to emit a straight-lipped grimace.

"Yes I am." She admitted although she silently hated herself for doing so.

"It's ok to be lonely sometimes."

"I think it's a little deeper than that." She absently wiped her nose with the back of her hand and took a deep breath.

"Do you cry because he leaves you alone?" That was too close for her comfort.

"Where are you getting all this from?"

"I'm still here. If you wanted me to leave, you would have told me."

"I was trying to be polite about it."

"You can still tell me to go."

"I know."

"But you don't."

They stood quietly gazing at one another. Seven never bothered to turn around and face her and she never bothered to ask why. Times like these when she found herself faced with unfavorable circumstances, she stopped to question what had happened that lead up to this point. She was an aging housewife, sentenced to live out what remained of her youth in a house without children and a ghost-like husband whose promises of living a whirlwind love were as empty and hallow as his goodnight kisses. Before her stood this gangling, pale, bony creature that says too much and is too ambivalent to cause any harm or do any good. And she hated to say that she wasn't entirely unhappy to see him. This kid was probably the second to last (that title going to the all too lovely couple from before) person she wished to befriend, but the only other option was solitude. She was still on the borderline between which was the lesser of two evils.

"Do you want help or not?" Videl broke the silence before she was consumed by her thoughts.

"If there's shade." Seven nodded.

"Wait under the overhang to the porch while I go inside. It won't take long."

Videl headed towards the house. She could hear Seven follow so closely behind her that it was amazing that she couldn't feel his breath down her neck. There was a tense awkwardness about this one.

"A little room if you don't mind." She mustered the words as nonchalantly as possible and continued her stride. The boy fell back a few paces and proceeded with the same mind-numbing slowness that he had when he first emerged from the woods.

As promised, Videl retrieved the first aid kit (and a bottle of sunscreen) from the kitchen and returned outside. She found Seven standing exactly where she had told him to. _At least someone listens to me_, she thought wryly as she knelt and undid the clasp of the box.

"Sit down." She said as she picked through the neatly sorted bandages and wraps.

Again, he calmly obeyed and took a seat barely out of Videl's reach. Finding the disinfectant wipe she was looking for, she tore off the packet's seal and unfolded the tiny square cloth.

"Hold still, this will sting." She gently wiped the now dried blood off his back and blotted at the mane of hair on his spine. To her surprise, most of the wounds had closed up leaving only a few scattered pinpricks open.

Satisfied with her work, Videl tossed the dirtied cloth away and grabbed the sunscreen. She doubted the SPF45 would help this kid out much because he had the complexion of a graveyard haunt, but it wouldn't hurt any.

"I don't understand how you stay so pale when you live outside." She said as she squirted the sunscreen into her palms and rubbed them together.

"I usually rest when the sun is too high." He replied.

"So you're a vampire?"

"I've been called a vampire before. I . . . don't think I am one."

"Oh really? Piccolo called you that?" She held back a chuckle and started rubbing the sunscreen on the top of Seven's shoulders. The boy cringed like a rat and leaned away from her touch.

"Piccolo never called me that." His voice sounded pained and the expression on his face confirmed it.

"Why did you pull away? It's just sunscreen, it won't hurt you." She scooted closer to finish the job.

"It's not a good idea."

"Well neither is prancing around without a shirt at high noon, but that didn't stop you." Videl had barely placed her hand on his shoulder again before he covered her own hand with his. She felt her breath hitch; the kid had hands that were easily three times the size of hers and looked as though they could crumple her bones without much trouble.

Seven must have noticed her concern because he withdrew his hand quickly.

"I did not mean to scare you." He kept his eyes downward, looking at his palms.

"It's fine. You aren't use to contact, are you?" She felt odd even asking that.

"Not for a long time."

Videl nodded, "I'll clean up here then." She said and gathered the kit and sunscreen lotion to take back into the house.

"I'd wash my hands in hot water for awhile, if I were you. You've been around a wild animal and all." Seven added with a note of cynicism and stood, straightening out his back and stretching his arms.

"You're leaving already?"

"You seem to be okay. That is why I stopped here."

"Oh . . .Then I suppose it is best that you go." Admittedly, she was slightly sad to see him go. This event was likely to be the highlight of her week.

Without a word, the kid took off, darting back into the woods with a haste that would usually have insulted her, but she didn't mind.

"You don't always have to sneak around here all the time," She called after him. "I'd rather have you say hello, anyway."

* * *

Note: Things are finally starting to kick off. The next chapter will be a fun one. And if you had not guessed by now, the underlying theme for this story is derived from the Evan's Blue song _Quote_. A lot of things will finally be explained in the next chapter and it will be a lengthy one. I hope to answer all of the proposed questions in chapter 13. This current chapter is acting as a catalyst.


	13. It's Almost Over Now

"_You turned your light off, so I turned mine away from your sadness, away from the nothing that you feel for me_." – Evan's Blue _Quote_

_

* * *

_It was evening.

The conversation with Gohan had not gone as planned.

* * *

He could have breathed in smoke and asked for seconds. He could be the rain and soil and wind all in one and no one would have questioned it because no one would dare to question him. He could stay here all night alone, through the darkness and rain. It wouldn't matter because no one came to these parts. This land was his and it always would be. Even after his body had turned to sod, no one would sit on the land he held claim to. This was the place where the desert kissed the forest. He had once allowed Seven to set foot in this area, to use it as his own, but the foolish child had thrown it back in his face. He turned it into a graveyard of naturally mummified animals, pigs and sheep and other creatures too soft and trusting to avoid the grasp of a bumbling little boy. But he fixed it. He went through and cleansed this place, making sure no telltale signs of that ignorant kid's foul work were left behind.

It didn't matter. This was his place and he would work on his time. The meditation was not going as planned. He had been here for hours sitting, watching the sun begin to set. It was going to be dusk soon and the kid would be skulking about getting into trouble. May was quickly approaching. The kid had an anniversary to attend. It was cute, really. He'd visit what was left of the girl and clear away the debris around the little house with the little picket fence and little doghouse. Seven never did like dogs. He was afraid of them and everything else that breathes and makes noise.

This wasn't helping. He was trying to rid his mind of troubles, not revive them. Uncurling himself from the lotus position, he gave his legs a reprieve by stretching them tenderly. The same malcontent that haunted his mind turned his blood into battery acid. It was like a sickness to which the only cure was to drink more poison. The funny thing was, the kid never did anything. He would know. He always was watching, waiting like some old man who has nothing better to do. He was losing it just as easily and surely as the wind would blow the sand dunes. He waited. And waited. And waited—and the worst thing, the only thing this kid had the guts to do was barely say hello. He didn't know whether to be relieved or severely disappointed. At the moment, he felt betrayed. All this expectation and hype over nothing. That's what he gets for listening to hype.

It was getting late. He should go back and watch the kid do all the nothing he had been saving up. For courtesy's sake, the boy could at least have eaten that damn yapping terrier of Gohan's. He knew that Seven had taken the dog with the full intent of killing it and burying it next to the girl, but apparently backed down at the last minute and let the dog go, only to have to retrieve it from a fox hole. He deserved any bite wounds he got. The kid would go on to further degrade himself by denying that he did it in the first place. Fact was that he was just ashamed of himself and ought to be.

He even went by Gohan's house to apologize to the woman but didn't have the guts to even do that. Instead he idly chattered away to the point where **I** had to leave before **I** was sick. How completely and utterly useless.

I rubbed my temples with the forefingers of my hands. It seemed that my mind only traveled to dark places when I let it wander. I don't feel the anger I was expecting. The one thing I specifically told the kid not to do, he does. Normally, I'd be furious, but I can't bring myself to care. It was all one big joke. Oh, the kid's a dangerous monster, he's a terrible fiend, he's so many things, but most of all, he's the power of suggestion. Not once has the kid done a single thing that was foretold of him or his bumbling race. I waited over ten long, uneventful years for it. I forget who told me that he would do such things. It must have been Bulma, it had to have been. No, no it wasn't Bulma. Was she even around anymore? No, it had to be her, this was all her doing. I haven't seen her in years. She never told me anything. Did I tell myself that? No, that's impossible, I don't go around telling myself things. I'm certain Bulma warned me of this kid. I tried to straighten the kid out but he was too weak. But he's dangerous. I could snap him in two like a sapling and he's dangerous. But I need him here because if Gohan's heart breaks, I don't know, Dende told me once that it would break because he was going to get sick, not like Goku did, that was different, that was nothing like Gohan, you can't compare the two like that, Gohan has more substance than fighting and eating, his heart doesn't beat the same way, thump-thump, thump-thump, thu-thump pause thump-thump, thump, you can hear that it's wrong and that woman is going to drive it over the edge and no human heart will do you see and the boy, my boy, has two hearts that beat in his chest, one for each of Gohan's broken ones I don't know how and I don't know why but he's the answer to this and he has to stay here and die because no one else in this entire miserable world will look after Gohan when all else is gone and—

Someone was close. I could sense the ki disturbance in the distance. There were two of them, one much smaller and weaker than the first. It wasn't human either, no, human signatures are engraved into my mind and this was something far more primitive. And it was moving toward me.

I don't recall any animals around these parts, not since Seven made sure no creature wanted to be caught alive here anyhow. These weren't animals, or at least none like I had felt before. Strangely, the ki was more similar to the kid's signature, but stronger, definitely stronger than that whelp. Still, it posed no threat. If anything, it would serve as a worthy distraction from the creeping madness.

The ki steadily advanced and I stand here waiting for it. I can barely make out the form. It looks like some animal traveling upon four limbs, then two, then back to four. It's just as confusing as it sounds. The smaller companion dangles behind it, weaving from left to right.

A few minutes pass. I can see it closer now. I swear it's the kid. It's got to be the kid. I don't want to accept the other option.

The creature saw me and I saw it. It drew up on his hind legs and stood, not quite straight, and peered at me. It was an animal trying to intimidate me by making himself bigger. By the looks of it, it may or may not have been longer than I am, but it was gangling in form. I don't want to accept that it's not the kid. The animal must have thought it worked. I could feel the heat escape from my body into the cold evening air. Really, I was just seeing a glimpse of a future I didn't want. This creature looked like how I imagined my boy would look if he ever reached full maturity.

The larger creature looked behind it and gestured with a long, sweeping arm before turning its attention back to me in a slow, calculated approach. There was a small lump tucked near to the ground where the creature had motioned. I'm guessing it's a child. The thought boils my stomach acid. Of all the things to crawl upon my valley, why more of these plague rats? Only weeks ago had I discovered there were more of them than just the kid. I refused to think about it, outright rejected it. Some weaker part of me wanted to say the boy was mine when I knew from the very start he was not. Even now I don't know if I believe if the kid is one of them. No, he's not. He's mine. The grin and folds of his face, that deep-seeded—he's not mine. He's an animal, just like them. The kid is a very clever beast. I need to talk to Gohan.

I wanted to tell him the first day I stopped by his house in years. It was too much to ask. He has his own life; I can fix this. Gohan never has to know. I will not worry him with this further. The kid will never know either; I'll make sure of that.

I could see the creature more clearly now than ever. It was distinctly the male of whatever it was. He was barely a few meters away crouched down on all fours. He was a ball of tightly stretched muscle over a skeleton far too large for its own good. Our eyes met. His were as fair and blue as Seven's, but more pained and creased at the corners. This being had to be around my own age, maybe a few years younger. He was wearing a make-shift shirt that appeared to be a torn white sheet tightly bound around his abdomen and a pair of rough, brown pants that were ripped off at the knee. The mass of black hair on its head stuck up at frightful angles as thought it was trying to escape the fate of being attached to this creature. If one looked closely, there were a few visibly graying hairs near its temple and neck. The creature rose up on its hind legs, an effort that was clearly uncomfortable for it. Even through the coarse brown material of its pants, I could tell the creature had hip problems. He couldn't stand completely upright and leaned unsteadily forward like some lowly, knuckle-dragging ape. I looked him over, remembering every detail, comparing them to what I already knew. This creature was darker than my kid, a dirty pale green, his face was rough and pointed with a nose you could strike flint on. He was slender but not sickly and he looked like the type of creature who would fight until his hide was turned into jelly. I bet he is waiting for the opportunity to sink those yellowing curved talons into me at the first opportunity he gets. There was something that caught my eye though. His wrists, ankles and ears were all tagged with three distinct black bands on each one. Are these creatures advanced enough to have a culture or did humans do this?

And I hated those eyes. They were staring right back into my own, challenging me at the most primal level. I felt the insatiable urge to pluck them out and dispatch of this creature, but I had to know.

He creeps closer to me. I stand there, arms folded against my chest, glaring daggers into him. He doesn't notice and keeps limping forward. I can smell him from here. Disgusting. The smell is thick like musk and dead earth. I exhale sharply, trying to clear my head of it, but that only makes it worse. I can _taste_ it. This creature has offended me in nearly every way possible, but I will let it live long enough to find out where it comes from and make sure that whatever these things are never have the chance to spread their filth here.

Dende warned me about them far too late. I already knew. I was on the lookout a few days ago trying to clear my head of these troubles, these damned persistent troubles. I knew these things were here. I had heard rumor of ghastly, pale creatures with glowing blue eyes and raptor-like talons preying upon livestock.

I had been flying over one of the small villages to the east at nightfall when I noticed that they were having a bon fire. What they were burning had a stench so foul that it drove me to distraction. I had been past here a thousand times and never once had so much as a candle been lit in this place after dark. The tongues of the bonfire lapped at the sky now. I covered my nose with my gi and descended, landing on the thatched roof of a stone cottage. The people were chattering amongst themselves.

"They ate my chickens and stole the eggs!" One man said, motioning wildly to the sky.

"That's nothing," A woman objected, "They ravaged my field. My family has nothing left to harvest for fall!"

"The neighboring village was attacked yesterday! The creatures went near the children and stole the bed sheets!" Yet another voice proclaimed.

The people were in a panic, but all had a similar worry. 'They killed my watchdog, they ate my crops, stole my piglets and butchered my calves, they stole my laundry' Apparently the humans blamed everything from missing pants to dead animals on the creatures.

It sounded like the musings of superstitious humans and I was about to leave before one of them spoke out above all others. He was an older man, grizzly and crooked with a balding head and a gauntness to his face that was uncanny. He demanded blood and spread warning of the demons, rising up on the tips of his toes for emphasis. He described the fiends in only the way an exasperated human can:

"Brutal, evil monsters, three times the size of a man. They hunt with claws like a mountain cat's and teeth and jaws that will snap your neck in half. They're grayish green and covered in wild black hair like a demonic fiend and lure women and children in with their _glowing blue eyes_ and spread disease with their palms.' The man went on a mad, exaggerated rave about how these creatures roll in the dirt to bathe and writhe about like worms, marking everything they come across with their stench.

A cheer rang out among the people when he said he knew how to kill them. Their celebration that night was of the death of one of the beasts. The man gloated about hunting a creature down when it ran off of his land after attempting to steal crops. He had the creature cornered at the edge of the river and was preparing to shoot it when the creature dove in and struggled to swim across but sunk like a brick and drowned.

He suggested that's what they do to the lot of them.

I felt sick when I heard it the first time and again when I relived the experience with the young Kami.

Dende's a good kid, but not wise enough for his job. He asked where Seven was and I assured him that the kid was still in the valley. Content with my response, he asked what brought me up here. I thought it was odd how he would ask that question second, as it was usually the first sign of greeting to be uttered by him. He must already know why I came, so I didn't answer. He said he thought as much and started walking toward the little garden Mr. Popo kept. Dende only wished to talk there when he himself was troubled by something. I wanted to urge him to speak but a little part in the back of my mind told me to let him do it on his own time. This place seems to make me more susceptible to the old Kami's influence on me. I waited nevertheless and Dende spoke. He said he had made a mistake about the kid many years ago. I asked if he should have let him die. Dende looked affronted that I could say such a thing. He replied no and continued to say that there were more of them. He looked to me to gauge my reaction. I was calm. I already knew, but I told him that I had not known for long. This seemed to give him some reassurance.

Dende said that he had been seeing a lot of trouble around the eastern lands. The people were riotous and had what Dende described as'darkness' in them. I told the boy not to worry about the hearts of men. Humans are a violent race so unlike what Dende grew up knowing. I doubt if he will ever truly understand them while he's young.

He said that people were killing the creatures on sight, an effective genocide. He didn't understand it. It shook him more than I thought was necessary. I understood. I guess my understanding of human principles has hardened me to their actions. I told him of my secondhand knowledge of the creatures, about how the people perceived them as a threat. He said it didn't justify their actions. I asked him what they did to parasites that ate crops on Namek. Dende closed his eyes and hesitated before answering. They killed them. I think it finally sunk in.

Dende said it wasn't fair. He wanted to do something. The creatures had been there for some time, he estimated, and not until recently had anything like this happened. I reminded him that it is not his job to interfere in these matters. This was meant to be comforting but didn't seem to bring any relief to him. I wanted to leave. This trip was meant to clear my thoughts, not burden them further. Dende could sense my agitation and asked me one final question. I wish he wouldn't have.

He asked me what he was supposed to do when all of these creatures had been killed. I told him there would be one left. He looked at me straight in the eyes and shook his head and whispered "No."

That visit still haunts me.

Now, standing before my eyes is one of the creatures. I want him to go away, but the creature was too curious. He made a throaty noise that sounded like he was exhaling through a wall of phlegm. He paused before making the same noise a second time. He was too much of an animal; I could never imagine my kid doing that.

"What are you doing here." My voice was so low I could feel it rumble in my chest as I growled the accusing statement.

The creature's eyes widened. "You speak?" His voice was hard to understand, labored by a thick, unknown accent that dragged out the vowels far too long

I could have asked the same thing.

"I speak, do not hurt me. We look for many miles for foods."

"We?" I looked past him to the smaller creature that was tucked against the ground.

"My son." Like clockwork, the kid rose from the ground and trotted to his father's side on two feet with a steady grace to his stride. I could have been sick. All these damned creatures looked the same. Even the child looked like my kid all those years ago; he couldn't be more than six years old.

"Where did you come from?" Certainly these were not the same creatures that were to the east lands, these ones had to be from somewhere closer.

"Far." The older creature extended his hand to the sky with his fingers outstretched.

I stared down at the kid even after the creature had answered. He was too similar for comfort. The kid was oblivious to the intent my gaze held and looked right back at me. Either that or he was exceptionally brave.

"Well?" I asked the kid. He shrank at the sound of my voice before taking a second to compose himself.

"We came from the dead city." The boy had a raspy voice for a kid, but spoke much more clearly than his father.

"East City."

The boy didn't respond. I couldn't expect him to know such things. That city was destroyed years ago by Nappa. There was nothing left but rubble, these creatures couldn't have survived a blast like that.

"Are there more of you?" I asked. The older creature looked confused at the question, but the younger one shook his head.

"No more mates, no more Mock-kee-yah-veh-lee-yan." The boy had trouble pronouncing the word and distorted his face in an effort to spit out the syllables.

I arched my brow.

"Some humans name us as insult. They killed our mates and young so we would die. We are the ones that made it far. The others died on trip or were killed." The older one explained.

This made things easier. I know what name to look for now and don't have to worry about more of them, unless these creatures are lying. I'll search East City later to make sure.

"These are your land." The older one spoke again, "We will look other places." He put his hand on his son's shoulder. The small gesture irked me.

"Did you harm the villagers on your trip?" For weeks I had heard many horror stories of these creatures, but it didn't fit the attitude these had. Maybe they were afraid of me.

"Nooo. . ." The older one growled sullenly.

"Then you destroyed their land." I said. This provoked a glint of anger in the older one. He seemed almost indignant if he was capable of it.

"We took what we need to live until they killed my mate. We were to leave them. They cooked her. She was the last." The creature spoke with such bitterness and infuriation that he was trembling faintly.

"They chased her into water for her to die. We don't hunt people like they do us. It's not good." The kid said and tugged on the older one's pants.

My guts were twisted and torn in two. I couldn't discern what to believe and what to ridicule. The older one said that they would leave, peacefully at that. The image of ruthless, thieving, murderous creatures was beginning to fade and was being replace by the brooding feeling of hypocrisy. I know what that judgment feels like. I'm still living in it.

I watched the older one back away from me. He wasn't about to turn his back. He kept the child close at hand.

"Wait," I can't believe I'm doing this. "There's one more of you left."

The mock-kee—creatures' ears picked up and they stopped steadfast in their tracks.

"Keep quiet and low to the ground." Every fiber of my being was kicking itself for having such an absurd idea, but if it worked . . .

I took off flying, which scared both of them. They were crouched on the ground peering up at me like scared kittens. Heaving a sigh, I landed and started walking. It took a few minutes for them to follow me. The kid walked upright while the older one hobbled along, switching between two and four limbs to keep up.

"What's wrong with him?" I hate small talk, but the older one was making enough noise that the kid could detect him when we got close enough.

"Shot years ago, broken hip, broken leg." The older one answered for himself.

"My name is Bowl. His name is Kiln. He's old."

"I didn't ask for your names." I continued walking with the distinct feeling that this was going to turn into a long trip.

"He was one of first here. He taught everyone how to blow glass and build clay and open doors. Do you know how to open doors?"

I was about to turn around and smack the kid when I heard him trip and fall behind me. When I looked back, it was clear that this 'Kiln' creature had pulled the legs from out under the kid. From the look he was giving 'Bowl', I doubted that the kid would pipe up anymore.

"First ones here?" I asked. The origin of these creatures was never explained before.

"Far away home." Kiln rumbled.

"East City?"

"No. Not this world."

"Where?"

"No place you know."

I stopped walking and partially faced them. The answer wasn't good enough. Kiln was steadily keeping his eyes on the ground. His brow was curled in what I assumed to be pain. The boy looked between him and me, wondering what to do.

"I know." Bowl rasped anxiously.

I nodded in approval.

The kid straightened his posture and cleared his throat. It was painfully obvious that he intended to tell the story in the exact manner it was told to him. I had seen Gohan do this before decades ago. Rolling my eyes, I leaned up against a nearby tree and accepted this fate.

"We once were from a great green world, much greener and big than this world," The kid motioned to suggest the hugeness of this place. "We were peaceful but not free. Many were from there. Many like us and many more dark green than us with light hair and black eyes."

The kid fluffed his greasy hair in a manner that would have been cute if I didn't want him to get to the point already.

"Those with dark green were lazy to build the world, to cut down wood and to make metals. Pale ones more good with making, they needed us to help. We build their towns and machine and after were marked with bands," He pointed to the tattooed stripes on Kiln's limbs.

"The bands say we were equal to dark green light hair, but it lied. Bands are shame symbols. Animals that were grown to work have bands. There was a great fight over bands and buildings when men in ships took the world. They said the world was theirs and killed many. The dark green ran away and took us with them so we build new world." He ran in a circle around Kiln who was unamused.

"We left our world to them and came here. Most died, but we remain, we learn to live on blue world and leave blue world people alone. We will not band them." The kid made dramatic a parting wave motion to signal the end of his tale.

"How long ago was this?" The scenario seemed uncannily familiar.

"Twenty-eight years." Kiln answered.

There are moments when you feel your heart skip a beat and you're not entirely sure if it's going to restart or not. Now was one of them, Twenty-eight years ago I was on Namek fighting . . .Had they arrived here when the senshi were gone? What were the odds? If the timeline added up correctly, it could have been Frieza's men that took over their planet during his galactic conquest.

This was so much so fast. These creatures are surprisingly free with their information. I guess you could call it 'friendly'. I hadn't been expecting this. I was ready to pry the answers from their cold, dead jaws if I had to. Maybe they don't think they have anything to loose.

"You are the most dark green I ever saw." Bowl said, withdrawing me from my thoughts.

I ignored him.

Kiln shook his head at the kid. I could contemplate this while we walked. Given this recent news I wasn't sure what to do with these two after. It was a stupid, rash decision to take them deeper into the valley, but I do not regret it. Not yet anyhow.

"Keep quiet." I ordered.

I can sense Seven's ki from here. He's sitting on the rocks near a tranquil pool of water only a few minutes from here. I want to know if they recognize him. Maybe he's one of theirs, but I don't know if I am ready to know if he is or not.

Stupid thoughts.

I better stop these two just barely in the range of sight. Their smell is so overpowering that I still haven't grown accustomed to it. I know my boy will smell it. If he has any sense about him in that thick skull, he'd run in the opposite direction at the first whiff.

We reached the trees that border the clearing that the pool is in. As I predicted, the kid was there. His back was to us but I could still see that he was removing the bandage on his arm. He had sacrificed another shirt I gave him to make the wrap. The wounds were seeping badly, but seemed to be healing albeit slowly. I motioned for Kiln to come forward and leave the kid. The child, Bowl, was too excitable. I expect that he would be the most likely to take a rash action.

Kiln rose to his hind legs, straightening out his back as much as possible to get a better view. He was taller than me by a head, I hadn't really noticed until we were side by side. His eyes widened in disbelief and he looked to me in utter confusion before staring back at Seven with a glimmer in his eye that I did not like.

"Your mate is sick." He was agitated.

"He's my . . .boy." I couldn't spit out the word.

"No," Kiln shook his head so fervently that dead skin flakes fell from his scalp onto my gi. I felt violated. "Much small for male, lighter skin with pink glow, no scent. Female."

"He's sunburnt you fool and unlike you, he bathes."

He disregarded my comment with a slight sneer.

"She is not your mate then?" Kiln directed the comment at me, but did not take his eyes away from Seven.

I saw what he was thinking. I wasn't about to let him near my boy.

"You don't recognize him." It almost went without asking, but I had already wasted so much of my time, one more question wouldn't matter.

"Am I to recognize . . .him?" He shifted to the side, trying to get a better glimpse of Seven. A cloud of disappointment swam across his face when he realized the 'female' in question had an Adam's apple.

"Leave." I commanded but Kiln didn't move. He was transfixed, still.

I briefly considered removing his head from his shoulders. I would have when I was younger. He's lucky. Instead, I grabbed his shoulder hard enough to force his attention to me. He gazed at me with a look of genuine fear. I had forgotten what that felt like.

"Leave now or I'll be the last thing you limp away from." I growl lowly, making sure that a glint of my fangs showed.

Kiln nodded compliantly and cast one last fading glance at my boy. "We will leave your land."

I let go of him and he shrugged off my grasp. I had left a red handprint behind and four bloody claw marks on his shoulder. He left his filth behind on my hand. I wiped it off on my gi pants. I'd burn the outfit later. I probably smelled like them by now.

It was obvious that the creatures didn't want to leave, but the choice was not theirs. Soberly, I came to realize the error of my judgment. There would be no practical way of keeping them out of my valley and away from my kid. If Seven saw them, he'd be overjoyed. It's better that he thinks he's the only one. I know I was happier when I thought as much.

I watch as Kiln backs away slowly and grabs Bowl by the hand. He remains upright and I momentarily wonder if the injured hip story was a lie. Everything they told me could have been a lie. I was only reassured when he started limping. At first it was a subtle falter in his stride, but it became more pronounced almost to the point where I thought he was certain to collapse, but he kept going.

I followed them to the edge of my territory and told them to keep traveling west. I watched them retreat into the distance. I'll be looking for their ki around these parts later.

It was about time for me to return to my waterfall. I needed to bathe after being around those creatures; I can still smell them on me even now. I take a look at my hand, remembering all those years ago when I had dealt with my kid's own 'problem'. My palm felt hot but other than that nothing seemed to be wrong with it.

The flight from the west end to my waterfall was a short one, hastened by my absolute and unrelenting desire to cleanse myself. To my surprise when I touched down, Seven was waiting for me. I had been too preoccupied by the other creatures and my own condition to keep track of him. He was standing on the far side of my waterfall with his ears bent back and his arms crossed over his chest. Something upset him, he rarely came this close to the waterfall, he hated the roaring sound it made.

I wasn't in the mood to talk and ignored his presence. He looked away from me as I turned my back to him and pulled off my gi shirt, igniting it with a simple energy blast. Usually he would have left long before I started undressing, but he stuck around. This didn't bode well for my patience.

"So where is it?" He asked. I could practically feel the grin on his face.

He was all jokes.

Groaning, I said, "What." as flatly as I could.

"The animal carcass you rolled in." Hysterical.

"Why, are you hungry?" I shot back, not wanting to let him have the last word.

"Yeah, actually." He moved in closer to me, resuming his gaze.

I ignored him and started undoing my belt, hoping he'd get the gist that I wanted him to leave. Now was not the time.

"Who were you talking to?"

I paused for a moment. I didn't think his ears were keen enough to hear me before. That was stupid. I continued unwrapping my belt like nothing had been said.

"I heard two voices." He said, not dropping the issue.

"You're hearing things." I took off my belt and folded it neatly to waste time.

"I know I'm not just hearing things, Piccolo, what are you trying to keep from me?" He sounded angry. I suppose he had a right to be, he knew I was lying to him, but I only lied to keep things simple.

"Some things you aren't meant to know." I said and brushed past him, heading towards the water. This conversation needed to end before it started. I was already agitated from the day's events.

"Like you and Gohan." He spat the words in my face and they tasted just as bitter as they sounded.

"You don't know what you're talking about." I growled. He knew that he shouldn't talk about, things that don't concern him.

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am, Piccolo." He was following after me, taking bounding strides to keep up. I kept walking faster.

"I've seen the way you watch over him. That night when you two were—"

I seized him by the neck and drew him towards me before he could finish. The sudden jolt momentarily stunned him. His eyes were wild and panicked. I could feel his throat clenching and gasping for air. He tried to loosen my grasp with desperately prying fingers, but his attempt was about as noble as a kitten batting yarn. If I wanted to, I could kill him with the slightest movement of my thumb.

I shook the thoughts out of my head.

"That was years ago," I pulled him in till we were nose to nose. "You don't speak of things you know nothing about."

His eyes were bloodshot now and his breath escaped him in weak, strained bursts. His body was going limp.

"This conversation is over." I cast him from my clutches and he splashed into the water barely off of the bank. I hadn't meant to drench him, but I wasn't remorseful about it either.

He rolled onto his side, coughing and gasping for air. His hand rubbed his neck, which was already starting to bruise. Sometimes I hated the fact I let him become this weak. I can barely touch him without him crumbling like the wing of a butterfly.

I watched him sputter for a moment longer to make sure he was okay. Eventually, he pulled himself to his knees and staggered to a stand. His cheeks were flushed red and his hair was glued to his face by mud and water.

I left him standing there with rivulets of water dripping from his nose and chin. He wasn't following me this time.

"He needs you too." Seven's voice was hushed as though he were afraid to speak further.

I suppose he left after that. I didn't pay attention. I need to take care of myself first.

* * *

Earlier that day

* * *

The clock struck twenty-five after one.

It was after lunchtime and Gohan found himself boarded up in his study yet again. Videl had prepared a good meal, which he hardly nibbled at. He hadn't been in the mood to eat recently. With a lazy sigh, Gohan leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. He grabbed the seven star dragonball from its resting place atop a pile of papers and began lazily juggling it from one hand to the other.

What he really wanted to do was talk to his wife and settle some of the issues they had been having, but his heart fell out of his chest whenever he came close to trying and resolve their differences. He was going to loose her if he wasn't careful and that scared the shit out of him At the same time, he didn't know what to do about it. Would talking about it even help or make the situation worse? He didn't want to think of the consequences of his actions right now. This was his little sanctuary and those thoughts had no place being here.

He closed his eyes and sank further down into his chair, holding the dragonball securely in one hand. Idly contemplated getting one of those spa treatments like Videl was so fond of. Not that he liked girly things, but Videl made them sound so good. She always looked refreshed and rejuvenated when she came back after a spa trip. That's what he really needed, something to put him at ease, get his mind off of things. Being a teacher had prepared him to handle domestic stress well, but he wasn't prepared for the solemn feeling of isolation. Whenever Videl was stressed, she could go into town and talk to her girlfriends or call them on the phone. He didn't have such luxuries. Truthfully, making friends had been the hardest part of his adult career. Sure, he had a few coworkers that were nice enough and he'd even go out with them occasionally and chew the fat, but these weren't real, lasting friendships.

There was always Piccolo. Good old reliable Piccolo. They had drifted away from each other, but it seemed that's what was mutually accepted. Time changed their relationship as well as themselves. Gohan had grown complacent and accepting of his new life, not as the guardian and savior of a thankless planet, but as a husband and teacher. It was good enough for him, he supposed. Piccolo on the other hand . . .he wasn't entirely sure what had become of his friend. Yes, yes, Piccolo was still in the valley and he still trained and went about the daily business of being Piccolo, but something in him had changed.

A tense, almost paranoid air loomed about him. Piccolo was always a thinker, a trait he had instilled in Gohan. The man was known for spending hours, perhaps even days in silent meditation. It was quite possible that he thought entirely too much. Hell, even Gohan would admit that being alone with his own thoughts for too long was nerve racking, but he had distractions. Piccolo has that Seven kid, but their relationship doesn't add up to what anyone thought. All in all, he suspected that the kid had a lot to do with Piccolo's current state, though he couldn't imagine why. Sure, the boy was a bit rough around the edges, but he didn't seem to be a particularly bad kid. And Gohan had seen bad kids. They were a constant reality for him.

He had put things off long enough.

Gohan scraped himself out of the chair and grabbed a jacket before heading into the living room. He was going to tell Videl that he was leaving to visit someone but he found her plugged into the headphones on the couch reading _Crime and Punishment. _He reconsidered and left without note. This trip wouldn't take too long anyway.

He had tracked Piccolo's ki to the farthest region of the woods. The flight took less time than anticipated, giving him more time to talk to the man. Piccolo was going through his routine, practicing his form to keep in shape. The man rarely did any strenuous training nowadays. There was something beautiful about the way he moved. Those idle contemplations could wait for later.

When he arrived, Gohan could tell that Piccolo had been waiting for him. The two always shared that bond even though it had gotten considerably weaker over the years. The telltale signs of sweat and dirt confirmed that Piccolo had been training prior to his visit. He knew what Piccolo thought of his decision to give up training for a more traditional life. He also knew that Piccolo had the common courtesy to not outright criticize him for it. That didn't stop the green skinned man's lips from briefly drawing down at the corners upon first sight of him. Gohan had touched down about an arm's length away from his mentor. The distance reminded him of how huge this man was, something that always humbly reminded him that he wasn't always the big man on campus.

"What brings you out here, Gohan?" Piccolo's voice hinted at amusement. It was true that Gohan was rather scarce around this neck of the woods.

"Had a lot on my mind lately." Gohan answered with a forced smile.

"Mhh," The green-skinned warrior nodded "trouble at home?"

Piccolo assumed a meditative position and Gohan soon accompanied him by his side like old times.

"Nothing I can't handle." He lied with a straight face. "That's not why I'm here though."

"Out with it." Piccolo found no need for his former student to be dawdling.

"I was worried about you."

Piccolo didn't so much as peek open an eye at the statement. It was as though nothing had been said.

"I missed you." Gohan finally whispered.

Although he didn't admit it aloud, Piccolo missed him too, but now was not the time for such confessions.

"I'm doing fine, kid." The retort came a few seconds behind.

"Oh, I know, I haven't really visited you in awhile though."

"Really?" Piccolo chuckled.

"Heh, yeah, really."

They sat there quietly for some time. Gohan was mentally trying to sort out what he was thinking into some comprehendible sequence. Everything was coming to him in fragmented thoughts and flashes of ideas and emotion. Not even he was sure of himself.

"Where did it all go?" **I** managed to spit out between disjointed feelings.

Piccolo's brow arched, but he didn't press the matter. It wasn't like him. He knew I'd come around in my own time.

"We use to have everything. It was beautiful." I said. I didn't have the right words to describe how I was feeling. Alexithymia.

"Nothing has been lost." He sounded flippant. He really didn't, but it felt like he did and that was even worse.

"Yeah, but everything's hurt, isn't it?" There was a bite in my tone that gave away that I was agitated. Sometimes I betray myself.

He exhaled heavily through his nose. "Now is not the time."

"It's never the right time for you is it, Piccolo?" There is a rock lodged in my throat and I don't think I'll ever be rid of it when I'm around this man.

"What does that mean?" He knows what it means and he knows that I know that he knows.

I laughed this soft, pathetic, needful laugh that damn near made my gut wretch.

"When I came to you all those years ago, the summer before I left for college, I asked you something. You said it wasn't the right time. Seventeen years and one wife and kid later you don't have a better answer?"

To anyone else, it would have looked as though Piccolo was completely unreactive, a marvelous imitation of a statue. I could see the pain on his face. The fleeting moment where he let go of all the air in his lungs and the subtle facial twitches belied true feelings—although the bitter part of me is tempted to say that he hides his so well that at times he doesn't have them. But I'm being juvenile and don't want to admit it.

"You grew up and moved on." His answers were so simple. I know nothing is that easy.

"No I didn't."

"You have other concerns now." He's trying to escape . . .

"Why do you think I'm still here, then? I could live in any part of the world I choose and I stay here in the mountains." I don't think I could make things any more obvious.

He said nothing. My heart ached. I don't understand why he's doing this to me now.

"Videl and I had a fight." I'd say anything to pull him towards the sun.

"Hmm?" He actually turned his head to look at me this time.

"I don't think she wants . . ." My words died out, too painful for me to swallow.

"What are you going to do?" The first real question was asked.

I shrug. "Probably stay here, keep working."

He made some noncommittal sound.

"I could use some company after it happens."

"That kid is around your house enough." The resentment was tangible.

"That's not what I mean. Why have you always had a problem with him? He's not that bad." I had sympathy for the boy. He seemed to be fighting a battle with Piccolo too. We were both losing.

Piccolo 'hmphed' as though he thought the answer was obvious. It wasn't, not to me at least.

"I take it the answer is still no then?" My lip curled inward faintly and I leaned back, trying to concentrate something else.

"You can't turn it back. I would not want to even if it were possible, even if I didn't have him . . ." He cut himself off. I didn't know that it bothered him so much. I miss my friend.

"You know the kid was never a problem for me, Pic. Don't you remember how I tried to get him and Pan to be friends when they were little? It didn't work, but still. It was nothing I was worried about."

"You don't understand, he could have hurt her." I almost snorted as he finished the sentence. He was so serious. The man who cleared forests by hurling my hide at the trees was worried about safety.

"Oh, please, you and I both knew that kid was about as dangerous to Pan as a bag of feathers." Surely he knows my daughter is a little more indestructible than that.

"I didn't trust him."

"You don't trust him." I corrected.

"Mhh" And a nod of consolidation finished the statement.

"I wouldn't worry too much. If the worst thing he's done is giving my wife gardening tips then I'm sure the world is in peril." I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't like him to be around your home while you're away." He was monotone.

My head snapped back to look at him. I couldn't do anything but look at him with my brow knit and mouth partially agape. What was that suppose to mean? It never even dawned on me to think of that. Seven wasn't the type. His spine and constitution were made of gelatin. Videl was telling me just the other day that he seemed afraid of her, all five feet of her. But still, Piccolo just doesn't say things like that for no reason. I don't suppose that he means . . .That's just sick.

"Piccolo, is there something I should know about?" It was nothing, but something didn't set right with me.

"You won't have to worry about anything." That answer only made me feel worse, like something ominous was in the works. I can feel the thoughts rolling around in the man's head even though he won't let me hear them.

"Piccolo?" I asked, wanting to tread as carefully as possible. I wasn't comfortable anymore. I knew he was keeping something from me and it burned.

"Yes?" His response was more hesitant than I would have liked.

"Don't do it." I didn't know what 'it' was, but I knew he was going to do something. He's reactive but patient and I think I know what, or more specifically who had set him off.

And he looked at me. He sat there and looked at me with the knowing that I didn't know what was going on and that he wasn't going to tell me. The core of my being is consumed by frustration. I just—this is not what I wanted. This is not at all what I came here for. I don't even want to talk about that kid, he doesn't concern me; this isn't about him. It's about us.

"I need something I can hold onto, Pic." I admit.

"And you think that's me?" He sounded amused by the very thought.

"I was kind of hoping you still wanted the job." I added weakly.

"Heh"

"You're my longest friend." I hurried the sentence under my breath.

"Some things don't change." It might as well have been a 'Yes'.

"Do you mean it?"

"As long as you do."

"Forever?"

"How long is forever?"

"Forever is not long at all." Piccolo smiled wryly as he spoke.

* * *

Morning

* * *

She had finished her coffee and breakfast of wheat toast. She really wanted blueberry bagels, but she had heard somewhere that bagels broke down into simple sugars almost immediately and stored as fat. That was the last thing she needed to worry about right now. Besides, she was out of bagels anyway. Regardless, she'd probably pick some up next time she went to town. Gohan had gone to take care of some bills in town and was out the door by six in the morning and took the last of the orange juice with him. It was perhaps half past eight now and she couldn't convince her body to go back to sleep even though her mind wasn't quite ready to take on the day. Besides, Gohan would be back in time for lunch.

Frost still clung to the windows. Spring wasn't her thing. Apparently it wasn't her garden's thing either, because she could clearly see her plants struggling to shake the cold off their withering leaves. Perhaps the advice she got wasn't half bad, but she wouldn't listen to it by principle.

Boredom wasn't a good look for her.

Everything felt dull as though the shades had been pulled over and locked in place. She figured that the afternoon would probably be spent reading. She loved reading but not with the fervor that Gohan did. Videl highly doubted that anyone loved reading quite as much as her husband. Now if he were as good at other things as he was reading, well then, that would be a whole other story. Maybe a walk would take her mind off things and it was early enough to still enjoy the briskness of the weather and the pale gray-blue sky.

She put on her lounging robe before heading for the door. Originally she planned on donning her full length coat, but she'd feel silly for wearing something so fancy to take a simple stroll. The robe was floral patterned silk and matched the pajamas she was wearing. Even she would admit that the garment itself was ugly despite the material, but it was a comforting item. She remembered her mother wearing something similar to this once, although she was sure that her mother had a prettier one at this age. Tying the sash around her waist and slipping on shoes, she set out the door and around the path that lead through the woods. In the past she had enjoyed taking Lucy for walks on it but recently she hadn't felt like going this way. Maybe if she was lucky she'd see the trees starting to blossom. It was getting to be that time.

"Where are you going?" The voice came from where the edge of her property met the woods. It made her jump all the same.

She looked around and sighed heavily when she found out it was just that boy, the Seven kid. He was leaning up against a tree looking all cocky and self-confident. If he had been eating an apple, she almost would have believed that's how he felt.

"Don't do that to me!" She yelled at him from across the way.

It struck her as. . .a bit disturbing that he was waiting there. He wasn't hurting anything and didn't seem to pose any threat, but that didn't reassure her.

"Sorry." He said without a tinge of remorse to be found.

"What are you doing here at this time of morning?" _Or at all, _She added mentally.

He shrugged grinned a little. It looked like he was laughing to himself.

"What?" Videl asked not seeing what was funny about her question.

"You think I'm out here because you are here?" He had a grin stretched from ear-to-ear. It was honestly creepy to see the sudden shift in countenance that the kid had compared to only a day or so before.

"Well, yeah." She shot back none too daintily and placed her hands on her hips.

"You're right but for the wrong reasons. Your plants attract rabbits, birds too."

"So what? You liked fuzzy critters or something?" She was a little sore at his answer.

"They're tasty if I can catch them."

"You'd eat a bunny?!" Her voice squeaked as she screamed at him. He didn't so much as flinch, if anything it only made him grin wider.

"The rabbits eat your plants and I eat the rabbits. You can thank me later."

"But they're cute! I don't see why someone your size doesn't go after the coyotes or bears or something."

"You want me to fight a bear and eat it." Seven said flatly in disbelief.

"Well yeah, those are a lot less cute."

"Are you insane? You expect me to go after a bear when there are rabbits to be had?"

"It shouldn't be that hard." She had to reason that after spending all those years with Piccolo would give the kid the skills to survive out here.

"I'll tell you how it goes after I get mauled to death."

"You mean you can't—"

"No."

"How about—"

"No."

"Is there anything that—"

"Fish."

"Will you stop interrupted me?!" She scorned at him, frazzled.

"Sometimes I can get fish, pheasant, maybe dog."

"You eat puppies too?" Her jaw dropped.

"Not often."

"Do you ever eat anything normal?" Videl wrinkled her nose at the boy's diet

"That is normal for me."

"Um, no, a balanced diet does not include bunnies and puppies. I mean don't you ever go get real food like ramen and dinosaur chicken nuggets or chips like you kids like to eat?"

Seven stared blankly.

"What?" She didn't see what was so perplexing about her suggestion.

"I didn't understand anything of what you just said to me."

"Well what's not to understand?" She sighed and flitted with her hair anxiously. It was cold out here.

"There are no dinosaur chickens. Even if there were I doubt they would have nuggets or that nuggets would be something to eat."

"You've never seen dino nuggets? Uh-huh." It went without question but she asked anyway.

"None that I planned on consuming."

"Ok, I get it, you're clueless. I can't believe you've never seen those. They sell them anywhere that's worth buying groceries at."

"I've never seen the town." He spoke softly.

"I don't believe you. You can fly there anytime you want. I mean if I really wanted to I could go there, but I prefer driving nowadays." She spoke as though distance was a rather passé excuse to not go somewhere.

"I can't fly." He sounded embarrassed at the matter.

"You're kidding me?"

Seven furrowed his brow and scoffed indignantly.

"Well you can learn, it took me a little while too, but—"

"No, I really can't." The subject was sore, she could tell.

"Why?"

"I'm not strong enough to fly. I'd rather have my feet on the ground anyway." He muttered.

"That's fine, don't get all bent out of shape about it. You really should try dino nuggets sometime though. My daughter got me hooked on them years ago and I can't seem to shake the habit." A subject change away from this kid's overall lack of ability was bound to change his mood, she figured.

"I'll do that if I ever get away from here."

Videl only smiled nicely at him because she didn't know how to respond to something like that. She didn't feel like going for a walk alone anymore with the knowledge that this kid would probably follow her but at the same time she felt like it would be in bad taste to retreat back into the house away from him.

"You should go." The words had a double meaning

"If I did, Piccolo would be angry."

"Aw, he's just looking out for his kid, I'm sure he's a bit overprotective at times. Every parent can be. I was, still am"

Seven shook his head in a silent 'No'.

"Oh. . .I see." Videl murmured quietly. She was getting the impression that it wasn't the weather that was giving her the chills.

"He isn't like that."

"Of course he is, you're his son. He's looking out for you." Videl couldn't rationalize the concept that Seven was introducing. It was, for lack of a better word, stupid.

"I'm not the son he's worried about."

This was so unpleasant.

"I'm not sure I'm the one to be talking to about this." She said cautiously.

"I think Gohan knows now."

"Is that why you came back here now?" Videl, not being the kind to back down lightly, stepped towards Seven, clearing up some of the distance.

He stood his ground and whatever visage of confidence remained about him drained out of his being.

"I've always been here. The only difference is now you know where to look for me." His voice didn't waver but his body was so rigid that it looked like he could jump out of his skin at any given moment as Videl continued to narrow the gap between them.

"For all those years no one saw you? . . ."

"You could see me. You just weren't looking." Something about the way he said that felt almost cruel to her, but she accepted it. It was fair.

She thought about asking him why, if he had been here all this time, did he never say anything or come forward. It then occurred to her that even if he did, she probably wouldn't have listened anyway. This kid seemed like a defeatist anyway.

"I take it you've been watching me for awhile then?" She joked but, although she would never in a thousand years admit it, more flattered than terrified at the prospect. Someone noticed.

"Not you specifically. You're always here though and it's too early for you to be up."

"Ok, if we're going to play the stalker game, how early do I usually get up?" She laughed.

"About ten." He said, and suddenly it was a lot less funny.

"What else do you know?" She asked, honestly wanting to know exactly how deep this kid had gone.

He shifted under her gaze "Not much. You're sad many days." The fidgeting started.

"And?" She pushed trying to get a better answer.

"I don't want you to be sad."

"You don't have control of that."

"I watch Gohan too. He brings sadness with him."

"Why would you say something like that?"

"Because he makes Piccolo sad too."

"What are you planning on getting out of all this, Seven?"

"I'm going to fix it."

"Well if that's the case, you're going to need a cup of coffee before you start." And she smiled and walked back to her house against her better judgment.

She had no idea what she was getting herself into—

But he did.

* * *

**Note:** This chapter was originally longer (by about a half) but this seemed like a good cut-off point so I didn't bog down the narrative any more. I'll post the next half soon enough. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. If things seem odd or out of place, I assure you that they are and my lack of skill as a writer is showing. I am scatter-brained. As far as the extra OC characters in this story, they're not going to be a constant trend. I do not like having a full cast of OCs in a story. Doing so feels almost pointless in fanfiction. I'd rather write an original. Your critique is appreciated. Thank you.


	14. Doubt over Paranoia

"_See honey, there's a place called heaven and a place called hell ~ There's a place called prison and a place called jail ~ And da-da's probably on his way to all of em except one_" – _97' Bonnie and Clyde_ –Tori Amos cover of Eminem

* * *

Morning came and Piccolo had kept his word and was fast approaching the remains of East City

From what he remembered the city was wiped off the map when Nappa blasted it, but to his surprise, he could still see some buildings standing, albeit barely. The roads and rusted metal scraps that use to be cars stood out like ink blots in the light fog that resided over the city. Strangely enough, it looked as though someone had taken an effort to patch up some of the buildings. Paths had been cleared but there were some sections that were blocked off by cars, shopping carts, metal piping, anything that would prevent easy navigation. Piles of refuse were systematically stacked higher than the average man could climb.

No one was out in the open during daylight. He pinpointed several faint, flickering ki signatures below him in one of the buildings and headed straight for it. It could have been a stray animals considering how weak the energy signals were. Humans had already been through this area recently and from the looks of it were still here. A vehicle was parked outside one of the buildings. The headlights were on, slicing through the fog like hands gently pulling aside a curtain. All the doors were closed and no one seemed to be inside. Oddly enough the keys had been left in the ignition, the radio was in place and the change was left in the ashtray but the hubcaps had been pried off.

He turned his attention to the building. The place looked as though it had once been a small corner shop. Its wooden supports had decayed leaving a rusting metal skeleton in its wake. Part of the ceiling had caved in, leaving a massive, weeping hole exposed to the environment. Someone had halfheartedly attempted to patch the hole with tarps and scraps of wooden panels to no avail. The window frames were boarded over but the main entrance was open. The front door had been unhinged completely and was removed from the scene. Slightly outside the door was a pile of mildewing blankets that resembled used potato sacks. Their very existence seemed morbid.

Upon entering, he found a world he didn't expect. Although the outside of the building was about to fall apart completely, the inside was highly decorated with brightly colored scraps of metal and plastic that had been twisted into fantastic swirls and elegant flower patterns. Suspended from the rafters by torn cloth and wire were colored glass pendants, most of which were flat like looking glasses but others were shaped as bulbs and radial stars. It was beautiful in its own broken way. Even on the ground, tiny flowers with wire stems and shiny soda pop can petals could be found. Someone had taken a considerable amount of time to cover the sullen walls and floorboards in artwork made from trash. Even the hubcaps from the car outside were used as mobiles.

A harsh wheezing noise from the other room alerted him to the presence of another being. As he drew closer he could hear high-pitched yet quiet, frustrated grunts. The creature inside was one of them. He could tell that this one was young, probably around Seven's age. Its skin was pale almost to the point of being white and its hair looked like string that had been dipped in tar and blown dry with a jet engine. The creature was clothed from the waist down in what appeared to be curtains that had been retrofitted into knee length pants. Its bare torso highlighted every bone and crevice and was pitted with pox scars. The creature's legs were folded limply to the side; it was doubtful that they still worked.

It sat facing away from Piccolo with its knees buckled unnaturally inward. From the looks of things this creature had been dragging itself around this place for a while now and had somebody else around to help it, but they were evidently gone at the moment. Piccolo started approaching the creature. He could tell that it was tinkering with something and was making small, irritated sounds as it did. Its hands were calloused and showed signs of fresh cuts and scrapes on the palms.

As he drew close, the creature's ears bent backwards and it stopped its fiddling. There was an eerie silence between them. Hesitantly, the creature turned to look Piccolo in the eyes. It had a gentle face with wide blue eyes and puffy lips that gave it an expression of perpetual pouting. The creature wheezed like a sick dog before turning away and busying itself without giving so much as a second regard to Piccolo.

Piccolo advanced a few steps towards the creature. All the sick little thing could manage was to shoot him a questioning look but it was otherwise silent.

"What are you doing here?" Piccolo asked, not being one for pleasantries, he hadn't actually prepared anything to say. There wasn't supposed to be anyone left here in the first place.

"What are _you_ doing here?" The creature repeated. Its voice was higher pitched than Piccolo had expected.

"Where are the others?" He spat, getting right to the point. This was not the time to be playing with parrots.

The creature shot Piccolo a glare and started to turn its attention back to its work, suppressing a violent cough under its breath.

"Tell me!" Piccolo growled.

The creature sighed as though it were so obvious that it needn't be pointed out.

"Gone" It finally said after a time.

"Where?"

The creature shrugged apathetically and pretended to ignore his presence.

"Listen, boy," Piccolo's temper flared at the sheer audacity this creature had.

"Boy? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am no boy." The creature snapped at him with stunning articulation.

Piccolo closed his mouth to stop from stammering on. He gave this supposed girl a once over. She was as flat and angular as Seven, perhaps slightly paler, narrower in the chest and shoulders, but certainly nothing that would indicate she was female. She definitely didn't look like any human female he had ever set eyes upon.

"All the females of your kind are dead." He said it deadpan even though at this point he doubted anything that the creature Kiln had told him was correct.

With that being the final straw, she threw down the trinket she was fixing. It shattered on the ground into a splatter of wire and tiny bits of fragile glass. Piccolo was neither impressed nor amused at the display.

She wasn't going to look at him again. Things were so much easier when she didn't.

"Leave." She said and made a sad, defeated motion with her arm towards the exit.

Piccolo kept quiet and showed no signs of moving. This creature looked as though it was about to break as easily as its trinket.

"Why?" Her voice was a high-pitched whine that wavered slightly as though she were about to cry.

"I need to know how many are left." This was taking entirely too long. It better be worth it.

"They left the sick behind for the humans. They are gone, you should go too."

"How many?" The primordial urge to rear up and strangle this girl was boiling within him. Nothing was ever a straightforward answer.

She broke out into another coughing fit that racked her entire body, forcing her arms to cave in underneath her, and crumbling her body into a shaking heap on the floor. Piccolo shook his head. There was nothing to be gotten out of this. Certainly there was another one of these creatures around that was slightly less useless.

"We're all sick here. You won't find what you're looking for out there." She croaked between coughs as Piccolo had turned to leave.

He ignored her babbling and continued walking away undeterred.

"Wait, wait," She said as she pulled herself up on her elbows once more "I'll tell you if, if you do one thing."

Piccolo mentally groaned as he stopped and craned his neck around to look at her, asking her silently what she could possibly want.

She dragged herself slowly toward him, her legs trailing behind lifelessly. He looked down at her. She stopped in front of him slightly out of arms reach.

"The humans are going to come back and when they do, they'll find me. I know what they do to my kind; I don't want to die like that. If I tell you how many of us are left, will you do it instead?"

"What makes you think I'll be any more merciful?" He was almost amused.

"You couldn't be any less." She muttered and kept her eyes cast upon his feet as though asking this shamed her greatly. "Fifty. There were fifty of us remaining when the others left. Twenty of us are still here, too sick to leave. "

"That's all?" The meager number stunned him.

"There use to be several hundred of us until the humans found out we were here. The ones who tried to help us died of the rotting sickness our males carry in their skin. They thought we would start a plague, so they sent us their sickness to prevent it. We thought the blankets were a peace offering" She was stopped by a hoarse bought of coughing that forced blood out of her lungs.

"Where did they go?" He shrugged away from her, not wanting to be hacked upon with whatever disease she carried.

"I don't know, now keep your promise!" Her voice had grown hoarse with anticipation.

"I promised nothing." Piccolo glanced out the door. The vehicle was still sitting there with its headlights on.

He quickly scanned the area for ki. He found only six life forces here.

"I thought you said there were twenty of you here." His comment was offhand.

"There are." She reaffirmed.

He nodded and without so much as a second look, took off, leaving her behind to scream after his wake.

After awhile, he couldn't hear the sound anymore.

* * *

Seven found himself sitting on a stool in the kitchen of the Son house sipping hot tea out of a straw in a blue china cup. Videl sat opposite of him, staring intently with those vibrant blue eyes.

He wasn't entirely sure how he ended up in this situation. It must have been a momentary lapse in judgment, the type of momentary lapse that continues for a long time. Some people call it stupidity.

"Why am I drinking tea?" His voice cracked mid-sentence, causing him to wince.

She gently chuckled and made a dismissing gesture with her wrist. "You looked like you could use some tea." She said.

The answer was less than satisfying. He had a plan; he was going to stick to it. At this time, he couldn't afford to not befriend this woman. The course of the next few days depended on it.

"I thought you didn't like me." He said, trying to reason things out.

"Well that's a very good thought, because I don't." She stopped to take a sip of her own tea and leave Seven lingering on her next word "I don't dislike you either."

She folded her arms on the counter and rapped her nails on the laminate surface.

"I'm still trying to figure you out, kid. My better judgment is telling me not to trust you."

"And the lesser judgment?"

"That you deserve a chance."

"Which side is winning?" He grinned not because he was amused, but because it would seem coy.

"I wouldn't place any bets yet." She caught on too quickly. "You're about as devious as a fox in a henhouse."

"That depends on whether you're the fox or hen." He said reasonably.

"What do you think?" She took a quick sip of her drink before checking her nails for dirt.

"You're definitely the fox." There was no doubt that he felt like the hen in this situation.

"Well, obviously." She laughed, but Seven didn't get the joke.

Videl stopped laughing when she noticed the uncomfortable look on the boy's face and frowned.

"Why do you do that?" She asked.

He looked up in question.

"You get all awkward out of nowhere once you have a conversation going. There's nothing to be awkward about, we're just talking"

"You're the only person that's ever been interested in talking to me." He tended to speak softly when he was embarrassed to admit things.

"That's not true, my husband wants to talk to you a lot recently." Videl pointed out.

"He only wants to talk to me so I'll tell him what Piccolo is doing." The point was null in his opinion.

"That's not true, he worries about you a ton."

"He only worries because Piccolo worries about me. It's not the same thing."

"I never understood you guys' relationship. You always seemed so, I dunno, cut off I suppose."

"Piccolo has mastered the art of ignoring things he doesn't want to face."

"I don't understand what you mean."

Seven shrugged and looked off into his little world.

"What I'm saying is that you're not making a whole lot of sense is all. If you want to tell me something, then flat out tell me." Her voice was as genial as ever since she had the distinct impression that sugar would catch this fly a lot faster than vinegar.

Much to her disappointment, the kid didn't even bother looking back at her or making any sign acknowledgement that a single word she had said got through those thick ears of his.

"Okay then, change of topic. You clearly aren't comfortable with this one." She pushed herself away from the counter with her palms and went to the refrigerator to grab a chilled orange. "So, why do you keep on coming around here so much lately?"

Seven cocked his head back to look at her. He admired the orange with a hint of distrust before refocusing his efforts on Videl.

"I didn't want you to be lonely." They had been over this subject before; he didn't know why she felt it was necessary to cover it again.

"Well I'm not lonely all the time, so don't think of this as some kind of job you have to do." She resumed her seat at the counter opposite of him and began peeling the orange.

"I don't," He said calmly, "I am here because I fear feeling your loneliness."

Videl paused and set the fruit down, "What do you mean?" Her voice had a softness to it that she didn't often display.

"I can tell when you're sad and I don't know how to fix it."

"That's . . .That's fine," Her voice wavered faintly, "But why should you care?"

"Because someone like you should not have to be lonely."

"Well, you're not my ideal company." She said bitingly as her defenses rose.

Seven dismissed the statement and idly began playing with the orange peel that was on the counter, shifting it from side to side with his claws. Videl watched him pointedly avoid her statement and flicked one of his claws with her nail. Seven smiled as though he wanted to laugh.

"You know what they say about beggars and choosers." She offered with a faint smile.

"No, not really." He admitted.

"We have to fix this." A new air of determination was in her voice.

Seven hummed an inquisitive reply.

"I can't very well talk to you if you aren't going to understand half the things I say." She said as she got up from the counter and stuffed an orange slice into her mouth.

"What are you going to do?" He said as he mimicked her and ate part of the orange peel.

"Come with me, you're about to get socialized." She motioned for him to follow as she went into the living room.

Seven trailed behind her. The sound of his bare claws on the kitchen tile reminded Videl of her dog skittering in. Ironically, the kid seemed to have about as much trouble walking on the cool surface as Lucy did.

She plopped down on the couch, grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV. Her head lulled languidly to the side to stare at Seven dawdling, "Sit down" she commanded.

He had no choice but to comply. Sitting on the couch was about as uncomfortable position as he had ever found himself in. This house was scaled to Videl's size, which was needless to say significantly smaller than he was. Point in case, his knees stuck up like tent posts and his feet, being too large to squeeze between the coffee table and cushions, were curled to the side and resting upon one another.

Videl savored a moment to admire the predicament the kid had folded himself into.

"You're ridiculous," She said, "Ever watch reality television?"

Seven shook his head and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Well, you should. It's delightfully horrible," Videl flipped through the channels before settling on one, "I think today is the day we find out who stole Monica's underwear last week."

"Wait, what?" Seven replied, dumbfounded.

"I think it was Kevin. Everyone says Tyrone did it, but anyone who has half a mind can hear their gaydar go off." Videl offered as she ate another orange slice.

* * *

To say that Gohan's heart was malcontent would have been the understatement of the century. His chest felt like an atomic bomb had been dropped on it. The troubles he had been having at home were beginning to take a toll on him. It seemed like more often than not he and Videl were at war. Perhaps not the go-for-broke kind of warfare that one would expect, but there was hostility in the tiniest actions. They both fought their equal share of the battles. Kami knows he was no angel.

Less than a week ago, he purposefully threw an ink pen in with the laundry just to spite her. The plot ultimately backfired and resulted in the death of his khaki pants, but the target white blouse suffered an equally horrific fate. He was childish and had the sense enough to admit to it. Videl, on the other hand, was infinitely more malicious in her schemes than he was.

She possessed the feminine gift of being able to stick a knife in your side, twist it, then convince you that you did it to yourself and force you to clean up the bloody mess. The kicker was that she could do it all with words or in utter silence if she so wished. The whole incident with Lucy felt like a slap in the face. Sometimes it felt like she asked him to find the dog because she didn't want him at home.

She couldn't have cared less when her precious puppy was returned to her side.

Whatever.

She had suggested that they go to marriage counseling sometime in the fall and badgered him for ages until he gave in. When the day came for them to go, Videl conveniently missed the appointment to have lunch with her father.

Things could be foolishly complicated at times.

Heaving a sigh, he cast a skipping stone across the pond. Piccolo was usually here around this time of the evening. The man was generally consistent in his habits, but lately had fallen off schedule. No matter though, because he could sense the namek returning to this spot. He was coming from quite a distance from the feel of things.

As expected, Piccolo touched down a few minutes later. Instead of immediately acknowledging Gohan, he went straight to kneel at the water and rinsed his hands.

"Hey," Gohan said quietly "Where ya been?"

"Around." The brash reply came.

Gohan winced at the abrasive answer.

"Did you find what you were looking for at least?" He spoke hesitantly.

"Yes." Piccolo said and stood, shaking his hands dry.

"Well that's good, I guess . . ." He trailed off and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Piccolo folded his arms across his chest true to style, "You were looking for me. I'm here now in case you failed to notice." Something in his tone snapped.

"Kami, I just wanted to see you. You're acting like you don't want me here."

"I came, didn't I?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then I want to be here.

Gohan arched a brow and looked Piccolo over. There was something decidedly different about the way he was acting. Piccolo just didn't act like this around him. This newfound aggressiveness was more than out of character. Things weren't right.

"Piccolo, what happened?" He kept his voice low and quiet, knowing all to well that if he even appeared to be prying he'd never get anywhere.

"Nothing."

Gohan nodded slowly. It was clear that he didn't believe it. Piccolo dismissed this and started toward his cave where he would meditate for the rest of the night.

"Are you ever going to tell me what's going on, Piccolo?" Defeat wafted from his voice.

"I'm trying to spare you from things you don't need to know." Piccolo was as nonchalant as he had ever been.

Gohan doubted he was taking this seriously, "I mean it." He said.

"Walk with me." Piccolo said after some time.

Flies were buzzing in Gohan's stomach as he assumed his place at his teacher's side.

They had been walking westward for what felt like hours. Videl was sure to be upset with him not being home at such a late hour, but the more he thought about it, the less he cared. She could stay up and do whatever her heart desired. His presence didn't concern her anymore. Piccolo stopped suddenly, jarring Gohan out of his reverie. The valley they had come to felt wrong. The air was thick with something dreadful. He imagined that this must be how deer felt during hunting season. A bitter taste lingered in the back of his throat.

"Why did we come here?" Gohan cleared his throat.

"I found two creatures like the kid yesterday," Piccolo said as he started walking off to where the grass grew deep. "I sent them out this way. They were looking for food."

"You mean there are still more like him around?" Gohan piped up at the revelation.

"You knew there were more?" Piccolo almost sounded offended at this.

"Bulma gave me part Seven's file when I stopped by Capsule Corp.. Yeah, it mentioned that there were maybe a dozen of these creatures in captivity long ago, but they were wiped out by a nasty strain of the influenza virus that got into the CC lab. It was supposedly the same one that came around last winter. Half of the high school was out for a solid week with it." Gohan said matter-of-factly.

Piccolo was growling under his breath. For the last decade he had been saddled with the kid, Bulma never mentioned anything, much less that there was an entire file written up about him. Everything that insolent woman had told him had thus far been proven to be a lie. A visit to the Briefs residence was far past due.

The further they walked the heavier the air became. The grass was up to their hips and the smell of something rancid hung over this place. Gohan covered his nose with his shirt as they pressed on. It smelled like the unholy union of rotting pork and dead skunk.

Piccolo glanced over at Gohan, "That's how they normally smell." He said monotone.

Gohan huffed in disgust of the olfactory atrocities that were being committed.

Insects were swarming in a patch of grass a few meters ahead of where Piccolo finally stopped. He gestured towards the site and Gohan slowly crept towards it. The stench was unbearable and made him feel physically ill.

He had always had good gut instincts. Right now, his were telling him not to be stupid, that continuing on would only open up the door to things that would spiral out of his control. Things that he had to know about if he wanted this chapter of his life to close. So, against his sensibility, he extended one foul hand to pull aside the grass. His gaze only paused for so long upon the sight before he let the grass slide from between his fingers and he stepped away.

Neither death nor cruelty had been an uncommon sight for his life, but that did not mean that he had any desire to see more of it. Piccolo joined him at his side.

The creatures had been hunted down and killed like animals. It took six bullets to the chest and one round of shotgun shell to the face to take down the larger one while the child was executed with a double tap to the back of the head. The boy was laid in the arms of the older male and left there for the crows and carrion eaters.

"What's going on?" Gohan's voice had grown hoarse. The rabbit hole was too deep.

"Their names were Kiln and Bowl. I sent them this way to keep Seven from finding them. This wasn't supposed to happen." Piccolo's eyes were drawn at the corners as though something deep inside that he couldn't express pained him.

"Why would you—"

"I didn't want him to know that there were others out there. He would have gone after them if he knew." Piccolo cut him off.

"This is wrong." Gohan rubbed the back of his head in frustration.

"These creatures had been hiding in East City until they were driven out. I was tracking them down; out of fifty I only found ten remaining—eight now.

"This doesn't make any sense. The file said that these creatures were held in captivity to study their heart tissue."

"What?" Piccolo's ears snapped to attention but he otherwise kept his cool.

Taken with Piccolo's sudden interest in this, Gohan continued, "There was a big controversy about twenty years ago about using stem cells to replace damaged tissue when these creatures came along. They're known for being able quickly regenerate the damaged tissue. Capsule Corp. jumped on the idea of harnessing that ability to help people, but it failed in the end."

"It failed." His voice was emotionless.

"Sort of. There was a case dated back fifteen years ago right before the whole thing blew up in their faces. They tried to transplant one of the hearts into a human. The recipient ended up dying a week later and Capsule Corp. was sued. The whole thing was illegal in the first place and ended up with that entire division of the company getting torn out. Later it was proven that the guy died of flu complications with his weakened immune system, but that did little to console the company's image." Gohan finished his long-winded explanation.

Piccolo's brow was furrowed in consternation.

"I don't know what you're planning," Gohan started, "But I don't want to Seven get hurt."

The look that Piccolo gave Gohan made him feel like the worst person in the world.

"I would never let this happen to him." Piccolo said slowly.

Gohan could have screamed under all the stress. He wanted so badly to be able to tell Piccolo about his own predicaments and to seek counsel in his advice, but now was not the right time. Now was not any time for those foolish, idle issues. His best friend had just dragged him out into the middle of nowhere to show him two corpses. It could have been Seven for all he knew and he couldn't fathom how Piccolo would have dealt with it had that been the case. Even though the man appeared to outright dislike the kid, there was something there between them.

Stepping away, Gohan wiped his nose with the collar of his shirt. The smell was beginning to make him light headed. Piccolo followed suit behind him.

"You should go home," Piccolo said, "Your family is waiting for you."

"I can't leave you like this." He objected. How could he call himself a good friend if he left in the middle of this mess?

"I wasn't asking. The kid's been at your house for a while. Watch out for him." Piccolo addressed Gohan without looking at him.

"Don't worry, he's safe there. No one ever come around our home anyway." He responded reassuringly.

"That's not what I meant." The way he said it made Gohan's stomach boil.

"Are you at least going to tell me why. I think I deserve that much." He exhaled sharply through flared nostrils.

"His intentions towards Videl are not amicable."

"What are you—has he said something to you?" Gohan turned to face piccolo head on.

"He stalks around your place when you leave, watching her. The kid doesn't take his interests lightly."

"Despite what you're insinuating, Videl can handle herself." The way he said it was almost catty.

"That's not the problem." Piccolo retorted sternly.

"Then what is?"

"That she may not want to."

* * *

Gohan returned late that night. The house smelled of chicken nuggets and roasted rabbit. Lucy was hiding under the coffee table in the living room and refused to come out even when he whistled to her.

"Videl?" He called out to no reply. "Videl, why is the dog in the house?"

He went over to the oven and opened the door. Inside was a roasting pan, which he pulled out using oven mitts, and set it on the stovetop. Cracking the lid open revealed two rabbits and a small assortment of vegetables, which were too dried out for his taste. Idly, he wondered where Videl got them. He certainly didn't remember picking them up the last time they were at market and he knew for a fact that Videl wouldn't willingly eat a bunny.

A scream from the behind the house jolted Gohan out of his thoughts. He bolted through the back door as quickly as he could.

Videl was standing there with her hands clasped over her mouth with Seven looming over her. He had a crooked grin on his face and this mischievous glint in his eye that startled Gohan. His thoughts flashed back to what Piccolo said and how every fiber of that man's body purely believed that this boy couldn't be trusted. Gohan's teeth could have ground stones to dust in aggravation.

Then she started to laugh. Not that fake, half amused sort of laugh that he so often got, but honest, happy laughter.

"I thought you were going to kill it." She breathed a sigh of relief.

Seven shook his head. "You said you wanted to pet one."

Gohan's eyes narrowed as he walked towards the scene. Seven was holding something in his hands. Videl reached out and took it from him to cradle it against her chest. It was a brown fuzz ball with ears.

"What's going on?" Gohan's voice called from behind them.

Seven glanced back at Gohan, not at all startled to see him while Videl on the other hand spun around on her heel excitedly with a big smile on her face. In her arms was a baby rabbit that looked absolutely terrified.

"You're back!" She beamed up at him with the kind of smile he hadn't seen in ages.

Gohan half nodded and kept an eye on the kid "What's with the rabbit?"

"It's a hare." Seven corrected.

"Long story." Videl said and continued petting the animal.

"I've got nothing but time." Gohan shoved his hands in his pockets and rolled on the ball of his feet.

Videl's smile disappeared, "Well," She emphasized the word. "You know that show I watch, the one you hate."

"That doesn't clear much up." Gohan shot.

She merely scowled

"Anyway, we were watching it and—"

"We?" He interrupted

"Yes, Seven and I, stop interrupting. We were watching it Kimberly had gotten a pet bunny for winning one of the challenges and I was just telling him how cute it was and that Pan would just love to have one."

"So what's with the two inside then?" Gohan failed to see any semblance of logic in this.

"Oh, those? He caught them for you. I told him not to worry about it, but for some reason he thought you'd want to eat them. I think it's a little barbaric to be honest.

"I love rabbit." Gohan relaxed his shoulders.

"Hare." Seven said.

"They're yours. Probably done by now too." Videl commented as she gave the hare one last pet before releasing it."

Seven grimaced at the action. Gohan laughed wryly.

"What's so funny?' She asked.

Gohan shrugged and shook his head, not wanting to go into it.

"I'm going to go inside." She rolled her eyes.

"Go then." He dared her.

"I am" She brushed past Gohan who shifted to the side to avoid getting bowled over.

Gohan refocused his attention on Seven, who in general looked stunned and poorly. He wanted to smile and pat the kid on the back, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Once he heard the door shut behind Videl, he took several steps closer to Seven and gave him a quick look over from head to toe. The boy still had some of the blood from the hares he had skinned on his hands.

"Thanks for catching the rabbits," He refused to call them hares out of pride "It's been a long time since I've had them, probably since before you were born."

Seven stared directly into his eyes without saying a word. Gohan broke the gaze and chuckled softly while resting his hands on his hips.

"You aren't happy." Seven got to the point.

"No, I'm very happy." Gohan said, "But if you could humor me for a moment."

Seven's ear twitched.

"I haven't seen Videl that happy in ages, was wondering what your secret was."

Gohan could see Seven's adam's apple bob as he swallowed straight-faced.

"It's just a question, kid, don't get all worked up about it." Not even he knew how much of that statement was true.

"I was keeping her company." Seven uttered flatly.

"I see." Gohan met him with cynicism.

"She gets lonely when you're not around." He spoke the words under his breath.

"Speak up, I can't hear you." He had heard him just fine.

"I didn't want her to be lonely."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." Seven spat.

Gohan tried to play the heightened attitude down and gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder. Seven's body jerked at the impact and he made a faint groan.

"Keep it up, kid." He left the sentence open ended as he made his way back to the house. The message he had sent was clear.

* * *

Notes: This second part of the last chapter took entirely too long to complete and I'm still not entirely satisfied, but I don't see how else it could have ended. The story isn't panning as smoothly as anticipated, but I sincerely hope it's still enjoyable. Critique/criticism is appreciated.


End file.
